


Lies in Crimson

by penrosewriter



Series: The Adventures of Janelock Holmes [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Christmas, Cute, Cute Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Female John Watson, Femlock, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Jealous Jane, Jealousy, Kissing, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mycroft's Meddling, Past, Pining Sherlock, Relationship(s), Romance, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Violence, girl!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosewriter/pseuds/penrosewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relations change. Meanwhile, Irene Adler is thrown into the mix. How do Sherlock and Jane work it out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally have enough time to get more writing in! I'm extremely excited about this particular story, and I hope you all enjoy it!

_“I can stop Jane Watson too…” Jane said, her eyes that of a corpse._

_“No…”_

_“Stop her heart…” Jane whispered, pulling out her gun and shooting her own chest._

_“NO!” He shouted, running to her._

_Looking at her face, he shuddered when her clouded eyes turned completely grey._

_Reaching up, she grabbed his throat._

_“Gottle-O-Geer, Gottle-O-Geer.” She chanted, Moriarty’s voice wafting out of her blue lips._

Startling awake, Sherlock sat up, breaths uneven.

After looking for the pool, he remembered he wasn’t there. He was in bed, watching the soft autumn light seep in through the dirty window. Running a trembling hand through his hair, Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to chase off the unnerving dream. Why had he dreamt that? Lately, he had nothing but nightmares. Nightmares of Moriarty, Jane, his darker days.

It had been four months since that case, and it was now mid-September. Why, why would his mind revert back to the Game of Treachery? Because, it would happen in some form again. Yes, there was a much larger scale of this that was brewing. He just knew it. Hearing a sharp rap at the door, Sherlock knew it was Jane.

“Yes?” He mumbled sleepily.

Opening the door carefully, Jane threw a look over her shoulder before fully stepping in.

“A client?”

“Yeah. She’s trying to find her husband.” Jane quickly described.

Getting up, Sherlock opened the door and looked at her. _Obese, from Oxford, allergic to cocoa, has five cats, lazy, out of work, nagger, behind on payments._

“He’s not missing, he’s run off.” Sherlock announced, walking into the living room.

“Wha-what??” The woman gasped.

“Show me your picture of him.”

“How did you know I-I had a picture?”

“If you are coming here to find a missing person, of course you’d bring a picture, or are you too stupid to think of that?” Sherlock asked, ignoring Jane’s sharp glare.

Digging out a picture, she showed it to him. Taking it, he looked it over.

“Your husband has had an affair-oh!-many it would seem! I suspect he finally ran off with his lover, and took your emergency savings with him.”

Blinking very fast, she gawked at him, while Jane face palmed. Looking at Jane, Sherlock sighed.

“Don’t even bother getting me if it’s smaller than a six.” With that, he shut himself away again, leaving Jane to console the now inconsolable woman.

After sending the woman home, Jane made some tea for herself. Ever since Jane’s return from Truro, she felt that somehow, Sherlock was acting…off. Not only did they have to be new, but different from the others. Truthfully, you’d have to have quite an abnormal case in order to get Sherlock to help.

Ever since their last huge case, Jane hadn’t had much time on her blog. With Clara and her niece moving in next door, Sherlock, and her nagging mother, Jane felt as if she could burst. She might as well pay a visit to Sanford. Shrugging on her jacket, Jane went down the stairs. Opening the door, she saw two little girls standing at her doorstep.

“Good morning…” She greeted them, the two giving her curious stares.

“Does Mr. Sherlock Holmes live here?”

“Yeah, how can I help you two?”

“They wouldn’t let us see granddad!!” The younger one piped up.

“Shh!” The older girl hushed.

***

After getting them some milk and biscuits, Jane sat opposite them to hear them out, along with Sherlock.

“Granddad died three days ago. They wouldn’t let us see him, not anywhere.”

“Has he gone to heaven??” The younger one loudly asked.

“I am not here to discuss theology with you. Most likely the scenario, is that people did not want young children to see the corpse so it wouldn’t scar you, or whatnot.”

“What’s the-e-legy?”

“Then, where is my granddad?” The older girl demanded.

“Most likely, taken to a special room, and burned.”

“...Sherlock.”

***

“He was supposed to die in a plane crash yesterday, but is found in a car boot today?” Scratching out notes, Jane frowned.

“You have any ideas Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.

“Seven so far.” After looking for a few seconds more, Sherlock frowned slightly.

“Four ideas…” Watching a plane fly overhead, Sherlock mumbled:

“…Maybe two ideas.”

“So, you mean you don’t know?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, yes, of course, I have…hypothesises and conjectures.” Sherlock said indignantly.

“You don’t know.” Lestrade echoed, a grin like the Cheshire cat appearing.

Saying nothing, Sherlock pivoted around, and walked straight back to the car they kept waiting.

***

Typing on her blog, Jane kept smirking as she described the scene. Yes, it wasn’t good to be happy about people’s failures, but it wasn’t everyday Sherlock Holmes couldn’t figure something out. Marching out of the kitchen in safety goggle and a lab coat, Sherlock peeked over her shoulder to see what she was writing.

“No! Don’t mention the unsolved ones!” He cried.

Laughing, Jane kept typing.

“People want to know you’re human Sherlock.”

“Well, obviously I am.”

“As in you mess up on things, make mistakes.”

“People don’t want to know about the unsolved ones!”

“Yeah, they do.”

“No they don’t-why do they?”

“Because it humanizes you. And this is your living, Sherlock.”

“No, my livings are the cases we take on.”

“And I write about them, so people will actually want help from you.”

“Hmph. I have my own blog.”

“Yes, that no one reads. No one cares about 240 types of tobacco ash.”

“243.” He corrected her, before a loud poof came from the kitchen.

“What was that??” Jane asked, standing up.

“I….was experimenting.”

“There’s a fire! A bloody _fire_ in the kitchen Sherlock!!” Jane cried, running in.

Grabbing a damp towel she ferociously beat the flames out.

“Open-the window-!” Jane wheezed, coughing heavily into her sleeve.

Pushing it open, Sherlock waved the smoke out with an oven mitt.

“What on earth were you even experimenting on?!” Jane asked, waving out the smoke with the towel.

“The products of Dr. Roylott’s.”

“You mean the one’s he used to poison his kid? In our kitchen?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock snorted, scribbling a note on some paper.

“You are unbelievable.” Hearing a knock, and then Mrs. Hudson answer, they were soon introduced to a young woman.

“Are you Siobhan Whelan?” Jane asked, walking over.

Nodding shortly, she looked at both of them sadly.

***

“We’ve only been married four years…and then he-” Choking back a sob, she said in a small voice “Died in a car accident four days ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane said quietly.

“But, they wouldn’t let me see the body!” Siobhan’s voice rose at this.

“They wouldn’t!! I begged, screamed, cried, but they wouldn’t let me! They are hiding something, I just-know it!”

“Begging, screaming, crying, it’s no wonder they wouldn’t let you see the body. You are obviously under severe trauma, and in the stages of depression where you are in denial, and looking for someone to blame. Now go back home to your daughter, I’m sure you have something Mother-y to say to her, instead of wasting my time.”

Lip trembling, Siobhan glared at him. “You’re a beast!! You won’t help a widow!? Just-go rot!!” She screamed, and stalked to the door.

At the stairs, she looked up at Jane. “And you!! Not sure how you can stand that monster!” After a few colourful adjectives, Siobhan was gone.

“Ooh…that one wasn’t so polite, was she?” Mrs. Hudson asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Neither was Sherlock,” Jane mumbled tiredly. “He really needs to work on social grace.”

Going back to her computer, she kept typing up her blog. _The body of a 45 year old man was found in a car on wasteland in Surrey. I genuinely never thought I'd see the day. Sherlock is BAFFLED! He hasn't got a clue! He's flummoxed! He's bamboozled!_ “Have any more adjectives you want to add on?” Sherlock asked snidely, passing by.

Looking up at him obnoxiously, Jane added: _He’s stuck._

Rolling his eyes, he went off to the kitchen to continue his experimentation.

***

A few hours later, Jane was doubled over laughing, while Sherlock attacked his lasagne.

“I really don’t see how this is amusing.” Sherlock groused in between a mouthful.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s about you! Hee hee…” Wiping a tear, Jane refreshed her blog.

“Aw, look, you just got fifteen more comments in the past five minutes.” Slumping, Sherlock darkly glared at the laptop.

***'

“How many comments now?” Sherlock asked, looking at her screen.

“Hm-before I went to bed, you were at 124, but my blog keeps crashing, I can’t pull up the post.” Sighing, Jane picked up the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m making a phone call.” Ringing three times, it picked up.

“Hey, Lestrade. This is Jane Watson. Hi, I’m fine. Yeah. Look, my blog keeps crashing. I’ll have to reload it.” Listening for a minute, Jane laughed.

“Sure, just text me when you’re done. Bye.” The moment she hung up, Sherlock looked at her sceptically.

“What? What were you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing.” Twenty minutes later, Sherlock got on his own laptop to find a comment: _The number of comments on this post caused my blog to crash so I've had to delete them. If you want to know what people had to say, then visit Scotland Yard where apparently a print-out is framed in the canteen._

“Conspirers.” Sherlock muttered, exiting.

Looking in his wallet, he found two tickets to that gauche mystery play that he had gotten. Well, he had time, and he recalled Jane saying she had a date. Why not pass the time? Pulling on his coat, Sherlock left for the play.

***

“I seriously don't understand what's up with Sherlock.” Jane complained as Sanford and herself took a walk.

“He’s Sherlock Holmes, of course he's going to act strange.”

“He's always been strange Sanford, I realise that. I just keep feeling though, that he was deeply affected by what happened with Moriarty.” Jane explained as they crossed a busy street.

Hearing her phone ring, she noticed it was Sherlock and picked up.

“Oi, what's up?”

“Jane, you need to come to this horrid theatre called ‘The Strand’.”

“May I ask why? I’m sort of busy at the moment.”

“I went to see this awful play called ‘Terror at Night’. The play was horrendous, but there was a live _murder_ , on stage!”

“You serious??” She gasped.

“Yes. I haven't had a chance to speak with the police, so when you are finished eating dinner or whatnot with Steven, I need you to notify Lestrade.”

“Yeah, of course!” Hanging up, Jane looked apologetically at Sanford.

“I'm sorry, but-”

“-it’s okay Jane, I understand.” Smiling gratefully, Jane rushed off as she phoned Lestrade.

***

“So, to sum this up. The murder victim Sidney Paget who played the detective Matthew Michael was also the killer as he had swapped out the aluminium crutch for the real crutch. He was attempting to frame William Howels who played the killer, to get fired. But, the plan backfired and Matthew Michael ended up backfiring and he caused his own death.” Jane recited, flipping through all of her notes.

“That would indeed cover it.”

“You're in good spirits. Murder do you good?” Jane asked, smiling.

“A bit yes. Nothing more refreshing Jane than a live murder.”

“Ah yes, that always does the trick for me.” Jane said sarcastically.

“Oh, I don't know how to thank you!” They heard a sobbing voice cry out.

Looking up, Jane choked down a laugh. Their previous suspect, the director. The one reason Sherlock dismissed her as one was because her clothes were so tight, she wouldn't be able to smuggle in a peanut. How could she smuggle in a crutch?

“What can I _do_ to show my _gratitude_?” She asked, batting her fake eyelashes at Sherlock.

“By not.” Sherlock replied shortly, as Jane and Sherlock walked away.

“She fancied you.” Jane laughed, nudging him.

“She fancies that she's not going to prison.”

“Sherlock, there's some reporters outside.” Lestrade called out as soon as he saw them.

“They're not interested in us.” Sherlock said briskly.

“A few of ‘em specifically wanted photographs.” Rolling his eyes, Sherlock pulled Jane into a dressing room, and slapped an oversized hat on her and sunglasses.

Finding a deer stalker hat, he put it on as well.

“Walk fast, don't stop.” Sherlock instructed her, walking quickly.

“Still, good for public image don't you think?” Lestrade said, reaching the door.

“I'm a private detective. The last thing I need is a _public image_.” Sherlock said, tipping the hat over his eyes.

Lights blinding and loud voices, Jane and Sherlock hustled through the crowd.

“Mr. Holmes!!! How did you solve the death of actor Sidney Paget??” They called, bulbs flashing.

Ignoring them, he noticed Jane struggling to keep up. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her hand and pushed his way through the crowd. Finding a quiet street, he steered that way.

“Reporters are pushy, aren't they?” She asked, still looking behind them.

Taking off her hat and sunglasses, she looked at his hat and giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing-it's just the hat…” She smirked.

“That...” He said distaste fully, ripping it off and throwing it into a nearby cardboard box.

“I don't really get why people suddenly gained interest…the theatre wasn't well known.”

“Anything remotely public will grab people's attention.” He said, walking down the street.

***

It seemed these days they were getting more and more unwanted attention. Twice that week, Jane was stopped by people to be congratulated on the case. Her inbox was flooded with emails and requests for an audience with Sherlock Holmes. Four times, they had reporters at the door asking for an interview.

Hearing the doorbell ring yet again, Jane and Sherlock exchanged looks of distaste, before opening the door.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, what a pleasure indeed!” A woman purred, her dress showing more than necessary.

“May we help you?” Jane asked through gritted teeth.

“More like, may I help you?” Exchanging irritated looks, Sherlock clenched his jaw.

Second time they'd heard that.

“Interesting.

“Said Sherlock, looking her over once.

“What?” “Recently were cheated on, you're trying to get back at him by interviewing me, because he also tried to get an interview me, and I said no. You're not even a reporter, you are an editor.” Paling, the girl swallowed.

“May I at least have a quote?”

“And I quote,” Sherlock began sarcastically. “No. I will not give an interview to anyone, nor do I ever intend to.” He snapped, before slamming the door in her face.

“Don’t they ever get tired of harassing people?”

“Apparently not. I give it two hours until one comes again.”

“Only two? I give it an hour.” Jane quipped.

“Is that a bet Jane? Two hours, thirteen minutes.”

“You’re on.”

***

A smooth hand caressed the photograph of the man in the funny hat almost lovingly. Looking at the article under the photo, she smirked. Pulling a thin lace cover up over her body, she picked up her cell phone.

“Hello…” She purred. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”


	2. Helicopters and Bed sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jane get to go on a little field trip. Meanwhile, Mycroft meddles.

"JANE!!!!!" Jane heard Sherlock yell in complete outrage.

Rolling her eyes, she folded up the paper.

"Yes Sherlock?" She asked.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SLACKS?!" Jane raised her eyebrow and looked up from the computer.

"Don't get your bloody pants in a wad, I'm coming alright?" Jane snapped, pushing herself out of her chair and walked down the stairs to the basement.

“What are you wearing??” Jane asked, looking away.

Her deranged flatmate was presently only wearing a bed sheet like a toga. Holding up a sopping wet pair of trousers, Sherlock fiercely surveyed the damage.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you half naked and rifling through the laundry?!" She asked.

"JUST LOOK AT IT! YOU'VE COMPLETELY RUINED IT!" Sherlock all but wailed.

"I don't see what-oh....." Jane twitched her nose as she saw the splotchy white colour blotted across various parts of the slacks. "So, how is it my fault?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"The towels you were bleaching got into my laundry!" Sherlock snapped, reaching down and pulling out a white towel and waved it dramatically through the air. Snatching back the towel, her nose flared.

"Sorry, but as I recall, it. Is. A. Monday! And a _Monday_ is when I do laundry. Yours is on a _Wednesday!_ And besides, you were the one who wiped up all of the brain matter of the floor with these, so if we all sit and think about it, it’s your own fault!" Sherlock looked as if he had just been slapped.

"My fault? It's your laundry! And you put my slacks in with the towels! _The towels_!" Sherlock responded indignantly.

Jane clenched her fists into tight balls.

"Okay, let's get one stupid thing straight! One, I have never washed your bloody slacks! EVER! Those need to be sent to the cleaners! Number two, I never remember sticking this thing in with the rest of my stuff!"

"But you said you'd wash it!" Sherlock protested

"WHEN IN THE BLOODY NAME OF CHRISTMAS DID I EVER SAY I'D WASH YOUR DESIGNER CLOTHES????" Jane, finally exploded, her patience with Sherlock snapping like a twig.

"LAST SATURDAY WHEN YOU WERE TYPING YOUR BLOG, YOU SAID, YOU'D GET THE SLACKS CLEANED!" Sherlock practically screamed.

"YOU REALIZE I DON'T ACTUALLY LISTEN TO YOU WHEN I'M UPDATING THE BLOG RIGHT?!" Jane screamed back.

If Jane wasn't so angry, the look of appalled shock on Sherlock's face would have been hysterical.

"You don't?"

"NO! SO THE QUESTION IS, WHO THE BLOODY HELL PUT YOUR UGLY PAIR OF TROUSERS IN MY LAUNDRY HAMPER???" Jane asked waspishly.

"It is NOT a pair of ugly trousers Jane! It isn't one of your ludicrous Christmas jumpers!"

“And WHAT is wrong with my _Christmas_ -“

"Hoo-hoo! Having a lover's tiff are we?" Mrs. Hudson asked, peeking down into the basement, groceries in her hands.

"Sherlock's being a pain. One of his trousers were ruined."

"Oh the black one? Oh dear, I saw it on the floor and put it in the hamper, hope you don't mind!" Mrs. Hudson said apologetically.

Angrily examining his ruined nightmare of clothing, Sherlock slowly exhaled.

"Yes, yes, it's quite alright Mrs. Hudson..." He muttered, trying to control his anger.

One rule of 221B, a rule that Sherlock instilled, was that you would never shout at the land lady. Ever. And although he had broken that rule from time to time, he certainly did not intend to now. Once she went upstairs to 221B, they were back to glaring at each other.

"I think you owe me an apology." Jane said, lifting her head up.

"Hmph, hardly necessary. It won't sharpen your attention, or repair my completely ruined slacks, AND you still are partially responsible _Jane_."

"Oh stop being such a girl, bloody fashion model." Huffing through his nose, Sherlock angrily looked away.

"Look....I'll try to listen to you when I'm typing. Deal?"

"Fine. I won't bother you when you're typing." Sherlock grumbled.

“Alright then, since we’re good, we-"

“YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!!” Mrs. Hudson was heard yelling upstairs.

Exchanging a quick glance, Sherlock and Jane dashed up the stairs.

***

“I am sorry….about this…” The man said weakly as Jane assisted the obese man into her armchair.

“Just drink some tea until you’re feeling well enough to talk.” Jane smiled encouragingly at him.

“But do hurry up about it.” Sherlock intervened, earning a glare from Jane.

“I-er-apologise for my flatmate’s dress code.” Jane said through gritted teeth.

As if just noticing, the man stared down at his tea.

“Ah, yes, of-of course.”

_Clearly in a state of shock…_ Jane observed throwing her hair into a loose ponytail.

“Tell us all the details, do not leave out any. The smallest detail might be crucial.” Sherlock said, once the man was finished with his tea.

“Well-I was driving, country area, when my car stalled. My car’s been having a lot of trouble lately. So, I looked up and saw this bloke in a red coat, just staring at the sky. I called for help, but he didn’t hear. My car backfired, and when I looked up again, the guy was gone. I went down the hill, and he was lyin’ there…” Stopping suddenly, his face grew deathly pale. “He…he was dead.”

Listening intently, Jane frowned.

“Describe the country side.”

“Had a lake, not many trees…um, grass…” As the man described it to Sherlock, Jane’s phone rang.

Excusing herself, she stepped out to answer.

“Hello?”

“Jane, it’s me. Listen, can you two drive down to a crime scene? I think the guy who saw it already came to see you, and I was thinking you two come down and take a look.” Lestrade said on the other side.

“Yeah, he’s here now. I think we can swing by, we don’t have anything going on right now. I’ll see you there.”

“Ah, I won’t be there, I’m busy I’m afraid. Just…please try an’ keep Sherlock’s trap shut. This Inspector doesn’t like funny business.”

“I’ll try…no promises though.” Jane said, casting an uneasy glance at the flat.

After hanging up, Jane walked back over.

“I’ve got the address. You ready Sherlock?”

“You go. I’m staying here.”

“What? Why?” Jane asked, blinking.

“I’m not leaving the case for anything lower than an eight.”

“Hey! You said, that you wanted a six!”

“And this is a six. However, I’ll only listen if it’s a six. Just take the laptop and video chat me when you’re there.”

“Unbelievable.”

“What is?” He asked.

“You are. I’ll be back in a bit. And throw some clothes on why don’t you??” Jane asked, snatching her laptop and jacket.

***

In the back of the cab, Jane sighed and watched the countryside go by. She had to admit, Sherlock definitely had his moments. She did not quite understand as to why Sherlock said no to cases like these. For the life of her, Jane could never figure them out. As they pulled up Jane, got out.

“Ah, Sher-”

“-Jane Watson, hello,” Shaking his hand, Jane looked around at the crime scene.  “Are you by any chance set up for Wi-Fi?”

After logging in, Jane grimaced when Sherlock was still in that awful bedsheet.

“You realise that people are going to see you looking like this??”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He yawned, sitting down with a cup of tea.

“Um…I sort of do. This is embarrassing!”

“I’m sure you can manage. Now, show me the grass.” Sherlock instructed, leaning in to the camera.

Sighing, she flipped the camera around, and walked around to where Sherlock directed her.

“Okay, let me see the whole scene.” Slowly veering it to the left, then the right, Jane waited.

“If you’re showing interest in this, then you should have just come.”

“Look, it is a six. I’m only showing up if it’s an eight. We agreed yesterday, remember??”

“No. I don’t, because I wasn’t there.”

“What, really?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Yes! I was in Dublin, visiting Stella and Ted!”

“It wasn’t my fault you weren’t listening. Show me the stream.” He replied.

“Seriously, D’you just keep talking whenever I’m gone?” Jane asked, showing him the water.

“Perhaps.” Hearing the doorbell ring, Sherlock looked at the door and scowled. “SHUT UP!” He yelled at the door. “Show me the car that backfired.”

“Sure.” Coming up behind her, the detective Carson tapped impatiently on her shoulder.

“You have two more minutes, then you had better tell me about the man!” He snapped at Jane, making Sherlock glare at him.

“Forget him, he’s an idiot. He has to be, if he thinks he is a suspect.” Sherlock said airily, dismissing the theory with the wave of his hand.

“Well _I_ think he’s a suspect!” Carson intervened, teeth bared slightly.

Nose curling slightly, Sherlock looked at Jane.

“Pass me over, Jane.”

“Well alright, but…remember I will mute you if I need to. Be kind!”

“Up a bit! I am not going to talk from down here!” Sherlock yelled at her.

Passing him over reluctantly, Jane silently prayed that Sherlock would mind his P’s and Q’s.

“Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?”

“He’s just overconfident.” Carson surmised.

Smirking at what Sherlock thought moronic, he shook his head.

“Did you _see_ him? Morbidly obese, compulsive cheat, a heart condition, a porn addict, and you think he’s a criminal mastermind?” Sherlock chuckled at the last bit, and turned to his client.

“Don’t worry about this, this is stupid.” Sherlock said to the flustered man.

“I-I’m sorry-I-have a heart-?!”

“Go check the stream.” Sherlock told Carson, ignoring his client.

“Why?”

“Go and check it!” He snapped as Mrs. Hudson went up the stairs.

“Sherlock! There’s some men here to see you!”

Two men in suits emerged from the stairs. One jerked his head towards the kitchen.

“His room is in the back. Get him some clothes.”

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrows.

“So sorry Mr. Holmes, but this case will have to wait.”

“Sherlock? What’s going on over there? Uh-who are those-” Sherlock never got to hear her finish before the laptop was shut, ending the call.

“What do you want?” He snapped.

“You are requested to accompany us.” The man said, his eyes saying that Sherlock was not being invited, he was being forced.

“Put on some clothes.” The other said, plopping down some clothes in front of him.

“And why should I?”

“Where you’re going, you’ll want to look proper.” Giving the man an once-over, Sherlock smirked.

“I know exactly where we are going.”

After being escorted into the car (He still deigned to decline courteous dress), Sherlock sighed and sat back. Buckingham Palace. What on earth did Mycroft want him to do there?

***

What on earth was happening? After Sherlock’s call with shut off, Jane found herself in a helicopter, on the way to what looked like Buckingham Palace. After directions on where she was supposed to go, Jane found herself walking through gorgeous room after room. Rooms with intricate ceilings, chandeliers, and vases worth five years of salary, Jane’s mouth was open slightly as she kept looking at the spectacular things.

Finally, she approached the room she was supposed to be in. A sitting room, from the looks of it. And Sherlock himself, seated on a silk like couch, still in his bedsheet. Raising her hands as if to say _‘really_?’ she walked over and sat silently next to him. “Please tell me that you are at least wearing pants.”

“No.”

“…Okay.”

Looking over at her with his lips pursed, Jane knew he was trying not to laugh. Knowing she would laugh if she looked at him, she resolved to look straight ahead, until she couldn’t stand it. After one glance at him, she sobbed with laughter.

“Right-of course, in Buckingham Palace!” Looking around, Jane smiled and leaned in to Sherlock.

“I am seriously resisting an impulse to steal an ashtray…”

“You haven’t smoked in two years though…” He chortled, shoulders shaking.

“I know. Wh-what are we doing here?” Jane asked, wiping her eyes.

“Who knows?”

“Here to see the Queen?” At that exact moment, who else strode in, except Mycroft himself.

“Oh, apparently yes.” Sherlock said, raising his brows before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

“Just once, can you two act like responsible adults?” Mycroft asked in exasperation.

“Mycroft…” Smiling patronizingly at him, Jane straightened up.

“We solve ridiculous crimes, he declines pants, and I blog about it. How soon do you think it’ll be until we act like ‘adults’?”

“I was in the middle of a case.”

“Oh, the car and the backfire? Easy, wasn’t it.”

“Crystal clear. More to the point, who is my client?” Sherlock asked, growing serious.

“Illustrious in every way. And in every way distinguished. For those reasons, my client will stay anonymous.” A man announced walking in, and immediately shook hands with Mycroft.

“How good to see you again Mycroft.” The man greeted him, shaking his hand.

“As always, Harry. I must apologise on behalf of my younger brother.”

“A full time occupation, I’m sure.” Harry answered, smiling. Scowl darkening, Sherlock chose to ignore the conversation.

“And Doctor Jane Watson! It is an honour to meet you! My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog! ‘The Aluminium Crutch’ is the favourite.” It was becoming quite clear who the employer was.

Face bursting into a blush, Jane’s eyes lit up.

“Oh! Why, thank you!” Jane gushed, shaking his hand. Giving Sherlock another look that read ‘ _The Queen reads my blog, Sherlock_ ’, Jane then sat down again.

Walking towards Sherlock, Harry looked politely at Sherlock.

“And Sherlock Holmes, the younger. You…look taller in photographs I must say.”

“I take precautions in a good coat, and a tiny blogger. I don’t do anonymous clients however, anonymity on both ends is too much work. Good Morning. Come along, Jane.” As Sherlock tried to walk away, Mycroft stepped on Sherlock’s sheet, making it fall to his waist.

Sherlock, thankfully, was able to grab it before he really was embarrassed. Eyes widening, Jane focused on an interesting aspect of the ceiling.

“Get off my sheet!” Sherlock snapped.

“Or what?”

“Or-or-” Floundering for words, Sherlock tried to think of an excuse. “Or I’ll just walk away.” He finished, tipping his chin up.

“Ah, even in front of Jane? I’d let you.” Mycroft taunted.

“Please don’t bring me into this.” Jane pleaded under her breath.

“Who. Is. My. _Client_?!” Sherlock asked, who truly looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Take a deduction and look around you. You are standing in the very heart of the nation, now put on that sheet and get clothes on, before Jane turns blue in the face!!” Mycroft snapped, his patience with Sherlock at an end.

Exhaling through his nose, Sherlock jerked the sheet from under Mycroft’s foot and readjusted.

“Well…I will go…call for tea.” Harry said, backing up.

As Sherlock gathered his clothes and left, Jane glared at Mycroft.

“Y’know, you honestly didn’t need to drag me into that! What is your problem?” Jane snapped.

“It was merely motivation. But honestly Jane, you are a doctor. I’m sure you’ve seen enough men in the nude to last you a lifetime. I’m sure, at this point in your career, those sights won’t scar your memory.”

Fuming mad, Jane stonily glowered at Mycroft. It was more than a half jest. She knew exactly what Mycroft was implying, and she did not appreciate it. Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft...your typical eldest child. Out of the whole chapter, I have to say the laundry scene was my particular favourite. As always, thanks for reading :)


	3. Hello Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock now lies in the clutches of the villainess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise on how long it took to update. I became extremely busy with my job. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

“I’ll be mother,” Mycroft said, doling out tea for Jane and Sherlock.

Sherlock, now dressed in a button down black shirt with black slacks, raised an eyebrow as Mycroft set down the cups on saucers.

“And there is a whole childhood, summarised.” He said, his face blank.

As Mycroft glared at Sherlock, Harry cleared his throat.

“I believe time is of the essence.” He hinted.

“Ah, yes.” Taking out large photos, Mycroft handed them to Sherlock.

Leaning over Sherlock’s shoulder, Jane looked at the photos, her alarms raised. Screenshots from a twitter account and a website, all showing photos of a woman. Not very appropriate ones, really. A woman, with her bare back to the camera with knickers, another of her splayed out over a settee and if Jane could read a quote correctly, it said: _Know when you are beaten._ Sherlock shook his head, before putting them down.

“I presume she is of importance to this case.”

“Oh she is, indefinitely. Surely you know her? She was involved in a scandal this year with an affair. A famous writer cheated on the wife with her. But the wife, also did the same with this young woman.”

Eyes widening, Jane looked shocked.

“…What does she have to do with the Royal fam-er, your’ client?” Jane asked.

“I am afraid I cannot say.” Harry replied tartly.

Jane and Sherlock exchanged glances.

“You are asking me to investigate, yet you won’t say anything?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Let me say that this woman had someone of importance in a rather compromising situation.”

“And there are photos.” Sherlock surmised.

“A good amount of them, we are insured.” Mycroft smiled through pursed lips.

“How did you find out?” Jane asked.

“She has informed us she had the photos.”

“What is her name?”

“Irene Adler. Or how she likes to be called, the Woman. A dominatrix. Don’t be alarmed Sherlock. It has to do with sex.” Mycroft said jeeringly, smiling over at Sherlock.

“Sexual relations do not alarm me.”

“How would you know?” Mycroft said back cruelly.

Jaw tensing, Sherlock looked at Mycroft coldly. Aghast at what Mycroft said, Jane looked between the two. Why did he suddenly just bring that up? Glaring at Mycroft, Sherlock shook his head, and looked over at Jane.

“Jane, you might want to put the cup back in the saucer. We are leaving.” Getting up, he waited for Jane before stalking off.

“You-won’t take the case?” Harry asked, blanching.

Stopping, Sherlock looked amusedly at Harry and Mycroft.

“What case? Don’t you see, she’s won! Go, pay her and in full. This has been a waste of time.”

“She didn’t want anything!” Harry intervened, stopping Sherlock mid-step.

“What?”

“She contacted us. Informed as that the photographs were there, but did not ask for anything.”

“A power play…oh that is interesting. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain, this is getting rather fun, now isn’t it?”

“Sherlock,” Jane said warningly, getting a sinking feeling.

“I will need equipment.”

“Of course, we’ll have it ready.”

“…Just your cigarette lighter will do.”

“Oh, I don’t smoke.” Said Harry.

“I know you don’t, but your _employer_ does.” Sherlock said, extending his hand.

“We…have kept many people in the dark about this…” Harry muttered, putting it in his hand.

“I’m not the common wealth.” Sherlock responded, winking before turning on his heel.

“And that…would be as humble as he gets.” Jane sighed, gesturing goodbye to them, before following him.

“Laters!” Sherlock called over his shoulder gleefully.

***

The drive home was silent. As happy and excited Sherlock was, Jane was the direct opposite. She did not think this was a great idea. Getting involved with a dominatrix, was ominous. As far as she knew, Sherlock had no romantic entanglements. Mycroft’s words solidified her impressions. Hearing a bunch of noise in his room, Jane looked up from her laptop to see Sherlock wearing a gaudy yellow tarp of a shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going into battle, Jane, I need the right armour.”

Sighing, she walked into his room. “Just wear what you normally do.”

“Why?”

“Why wear anything different?” Jane countered as Sherlock pulled off the yellow shirt.

“We are dealing with a dominatrix Jane. I need to dress appropriately.”

“Is there an appropriate way to dress? Sherlock, I don’t think you quite understand what a dominatrix is!”

“A dominatrix is a woman who plays a role in a sadomasochist relationship.”

“Exactly! She uses your feeling, and she _manipulates_ them. The fact that you’re already trying to impress her, isn’t good, it’s dangerous Sherlock.”

Pulling out a black shirt and buttoning it up, Sherlock shook his head.

“I do not have feelings, and I am certainly not trying to impress her.” He excused himself, making Jane twitch her nose in annoyance.

“Yes, you do. You feel just like me.” She said, scowling.

“No, I do not. I am not prone to manipulation.”

“But, y’know, Mycroft seems to get around that just fine.” Jane mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“Jane, you happen to remember our first night?”

“Yes.”

“I said, and I quote: ‘I consider myself married to my work, and while I am truly flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any sort of romantic relationship’. I am not interested in falling in love, and not with a dominatrix! Perhaps you drank too much Scotch yesterday, it must be affecting you!” Sherlock dismissed her protests.

Annoyed, Jane shook her head and huffed.

“Alright.”

 _Just keep telling yourself that, Sherlock Holmes._ She thought witheringly. Taking a white cravat out, Sherlock tried to put it on.

“Sherlock, you need to button it up all the way first.” Jane berated him, getting on her tiptoes so she could button the last button for him.

“Why are you dressing like this anyway?” Jane asked him. 

“Art of disguise is like knowing how to hide in plain sight Jane. Like that ash tray.”

“Ash tray? Wha-” Looking over at his dresser, Jane cracked up when she saw an ash tray sitting on it.

“You stole…the ash tray from the palace, because you said I wanted it.” Laughing harder at his sheepish smile, Jane shook her head at him.

“You are impossible.” She sighed, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt.

Walking over to it, Sherlock fingered the ashtray before giving it to her.

“You need it more than I do.”

“But I don’t smoke!”

“Neither did I.” He said, smiling at her.

For an unknown reason, his lopsided smirk made her laugh even harder. Little did they both know, that it would be a long time before they laughed this way again.

***

In the cab once again, Jane stared at all of the huge, white houses, and the amazing sights.

“Quite the place.” She whistled, looking around.

“You remember the plan?”

“Yeah. You come in, act like you’re injured, and then we can find Irene, get the photos, and get them from her.”

“Exactly. Do you have the lighter?”

“Yeah. One thing however. How are you going to convince them you were mugged?”

“That is where I need you Jane. Come on.” He said, having the cab drop them off.

“What? She lives in an alley?” She asked, looking confused.

“No, but this is good.” Looking around, Sherlock made sure no one was around before taking her arm and leading her into an alley.

“Sherlock…what are you doing?”

“Punch me.”

“What?”

“In the face, punch me!” Sherlock said insistently, pointing at his face.

Laughing nervously, Jane disbelievingly looked at him.

“What? No!”

“I mean it. Punch me in the face, as hard as you can!”

Shaking her head, Jane put her hands behind her back.

“I am not punching you, Sherlock.”

Muttering something under his breath, Sherlock raised his fist and hit her. Not hard enough to where it would actually hurt, but enough to send Jane into a fury.

“You!!” Balling her fist as tightly as she could, Jane punched his cheek with every ounce of strength, knocking him on his back.

“That should…do it.” He groaned, rubbing his cheek.

“Oh, you think that I’m done?!” She snarled, putting him into a headlock.

“Jane…can’t-breathe-!” He choked.

“Good. Now shut up and listen, you prick.” Looking at her eyes which her right now burning green and blue, she stared at him lividly.

“I used to be a soldier. I have killed people before.”

“But you were a doctor-”

“What does that matter?! In the war, you are asked, _required_ to do things that will haunt you for the rest of your life. So, hitting me when I happen to have a gun, might spur on a gut instinct I have, which is to shoot and _kill_. Don’t you ever hit me again. I don’t care why you did it, just never do it. Do you understand my words?” Nodding shortly, Sherlock’s eyes followed her as she walked away.

He sometimes needed to think more before he acted. Perhaps hitting Jane was a bit not good. His mother would probably have him hanged for something like that.

***

Watching Sherlock’s award winning act, Jane could not help but continue feeling…uneasy. Everything about it felt wrong. After they were let in, Jane put on her own little show.

“I…I am a doctor, I saw the whole thing. I need to treat this man, as soon as possible.” Jane told the woman with red hair.

Nodding, the woman looked amusedly at Sherlock.

“Why don’t you…go into the living room? Doctor, supplies are in the kitchen.”

“Thank you so much! Er, I am not so good at finding things. Could you help me find what I need?” Jane asked her.

She needed Sherlock to have as much time as he could, in order to find the photos.

“This way.” She said shortly, leading her into the kitchen.

After taking eternity to find everything, Jane had everything prepared.

“You’ll find your vicar in the third room to the left.” She announced, walking out, her heels clacking.

Where was Irene though? Perhaps she was out at the moment. Which was good, Sherlock probably hadn’t found them yet, or else, they would be gone. Opening the door, Jane carefully balanced the bowl and rag in her hand.

“This should take care of…” Stopping, Jane cheeks lost their colour.

After all, not often did you find a woman straddling your best friend, with his clerical collar in between her teeth, and her apparel less than there. And this woman, was clearly Irene Adler in the flesh. Opening her mouth, and closing it, Jane looked at her bowl and back at the two of them.

“I…have missed something.”

Taking the collar out of her blood red mouth, she smirked and got off Sherlock.

 _“Si vous voulez du thé, je peux appeler la femme de chambre.”_ Irene said to Sherlock, sitting down.

 _“Je pris le thé plus tôt.”_ Sherlock replied.

Frowning, Jane looked in between them both. Were they…speaking French? Did Irene not speak English? But she should, shouldn’t she? If she knew English, then why was she only speaking in French? And since when did Sherlock speak French? Jane sat there scowling at them, as Irene put her manicured hand under his chin, and looked at him from under her eyelashes.

 _“Je connais.”_ Irene purred, smirking. Sherlock looked confused suddenly, and looked in between her and Jane.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Jane asked.

 _“You know the problem, with disguises Mr. Holmes? They are always a self-portrait._ ” Irene spoke in French, ignoring Jane.

_“You think I am a vicar with a bleeding face?”_

_“No, Darling. I think you are damaged, ridiculous, and a moronic narcissist.”_ Irene hissed at him.

 _“Oh…and someone, must…love you.”_ Irene murmured, looking over at Jane. _“If I were to punch you, I’d avoid your nose and teeth to. Amazing, what details your little darling must notice.”_

Noticing that Irene was looking at her, Jane glared. She was most likely being made fun of at the moment.

 _“She never notices anything.”_ Sherlock replied coldly.

 _“Apparently she does. You.”_ Irene said, raising an eyebrow.

Unsure how to answer, Sherlock said nothing. Shrugging off his coat, he got up and gave it to Irene.

“ _You’re making Jane uncomfortable, put this on._ ” Hearing her name in the conversation, Jane glared at Sherlock.

She really did not like being spoken about in another language. Especially since it was becoming quite clear that Irene probably spoke English.

“Listen, while I love standing here looking stupid, I like it better when I know what’s being said. _Parle anglais_!” Jane snapped, growing irritated.

“Feeling ignored? You poor thing.” Irene cooed mockingly at her, as she slipped on Sherlock’s coat.

If she yelled at Irene, then Irene would win. She couldn’t say anything. Face neutral, Jane stayed silent.

“Anyway, I want to know.” Irene said.

“Know?”

“About that hiker, with the bashed in head. I want to know how he died.” Irene continued, removing her heels.

“You mean, the case this morning? How do you know that, it hasn’t been out on the news yet?” Jane asked.

“I know one of the policemen.”

Jane was feeling distressingly uncomfortable right now.

“You ah…like policemen?”

“Not really…I know what he likes, is all. But, I do like detectives. And detective stories…brainy, is the new sexy.” Irene said in a suave voice.

“Positionofthecar.” Sherlock stammered, looking away.

 _He did not just fall for Irene’s pickup line?!_ Jane thought, looking concernedly at him.

He sounded as if he were about to have a seizure.

“Er, the-er-the position of the car-um relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That-and the fact that-ehm the death blow was to-to the back of the head. That’s all you need to know.” Sherlock stuttered his way through the deduction.

“Okay, how was he murdered then?”

“He wasn’t.”

“You don’t think he was murdered?”

“Oh, I know he wasn’t.”

 _Was Sherlock just now saying that was all she needed to know, and now he’s just blabbing about the case?_ Jane thought, looking at him. Furthermore, Sherlock was not trying to tell Jane. He was trying to tell Irene. At this, Jane felt depressed, for some reason. It was as if Jane was…she couldn’t be…

“How?”

“The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.”

“Alright, but how?” Irene confusedly gazed at him. 

“Ah. So they _are_ in this room. Thank you, Irene. Jane, go man the door.”

She didn’t really want to leave Sherlock and Irene alone. It was a terrible idea to do that. While Jane needed to stick to the plan, she also didn’t want to…

“Is something the matter?” Sherlock asked her, arching an eyebrow, annoyed.

“No-I’ll go and-do that.” Jane said, stepping out, shutting the door.

When she got out, Jane found a stack of magazines on a glass table. Taking one, she started rolling it up. She wished that there was something more she could do. As long as they found the photos, it would be all okay, right? They would find those photos, get out, and never have to deal with Irene again. Already, she was tricking Sherlock.

“Unbelievable…” She grumbled, lighting the magazine.

Once smoke started billowing off, she strained her ears, trying to hear Sherlock and Irene’s conversation. Unfortunately, she could only hear their muffled voices. Going up to the smoke detector, she waved the magazine around, trying to get the smoke to spread. Hearing it go off in its high pitch scream, she sighed, and stomped out the magazine.

“Thank you Jane!! You can turn it off now!!” Sherlock shouted from behind the closed door.

Waving her hand at it, it still wouldn’t turn off.

“You can turn it off!”

“I’m trying!” Jane yelled back.

Hearing footsteps, Jane looked up as a group of men clad in black shot the smoke detector. No noise was heard, as the gun seemed to have some sort of muffler.

“Why. Thank you.” Jane said, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Let’s save the sass. How about you shut up, or I shoot you?” A man said, with an American accent.

An American. Grimacing, Jane glared at him. Perhaps this was why she wasn’t overly fond of them. Taking her arms roughly, two men dragged her to the door.

“...You already know the code…” Jane heard Irene say as the door opened. Watching the shock register in Sherlock’s face, Jane looked at him mournfully.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.” She said as a man forced her to her knees.

“What is this?” Sherlock asked, as they pointed guns in all directions.

“On your knees, Adler. Keep still.” The main one snapped, waving his gun at her.

“Would you like me on my knees as well?” Sherlock asked him calmly.

“No, Mr. Holmes, I want _you_ to open the safe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could Jane be jealous? Hmm... ;)


	4. Vatican Cameos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane's doctor skills come in handy

“No, Mr. Holmes, I want you to open the safe!”

“Wait! He doesn’t know the code, she does!” Jane snapped, earning a heel on her head, forcing her face to hit the carpet.

“She _also_ knows the code that alerts the police.” He leered, as he dug his heel on her head, making Jane grit her teeth.

“She didn’t tell me it.” Sherlock replied, staring daggers at the man who was hurting Jane.

“We heard it ourselves. She said you knew it.”

“Mr. Holmes, doesn’t know-” Irene tried to explain.

“-Shut up. One more word, and I will have no issue with decorating your brains on this lovely carpet.” Looking at Sherlock, he shook his head.

“Still playing dumb?” He sighed. “Mr. Archer, on the count to three, shoot Dr.Watson.”

Heart skipping a beat, Sherlock looked over at Jane, who suddenly looked stricken with fear.

“What-no!” Sherlock said, frowning. They could not do that. They could do anything else. Shoot him, shoot Irene, but not Jane. Never Jane.

“I don’t know the code.”

“One…” Trying to keep her face blank, Jane said nothing. She focused on Sherlock instead. She would not think of dying.

“She didn’t tell me-”

“Two…”

“I _don’t_ know it!” Sherlock cried out. Jane’s eyes locking with his, Sherlock felt his heart sink a little. She was counting on him right now to solve this, or he’d be looking at her corpse in a moment.

“Three-” Gun loading, Archer held it to Jane’s temple.

“NO STOP!” Sherlock shouted desperately.

Thankfully, the man’s hand went up, stopping Archer’s fateful gun. Breathing out, Sherlock looked at Irene for help. Eyes going down and up, Irene’s eyes snapped back to his. The clue was right there. Turning around, his fingers hovered over the boards. _32…24…34…_

“Vatican Cameos!” He announced loudly.

Knowing what he meant, Jane ducked down as Sherlock pulled open the safe. Hearing a gun shot from the vault, Jane watched the bullet puncture Archer’s chest. Hitting the main Agent, Sherlock then kicked. Serves him right for having someone pull a gun on Jane. Elbowing a man in the groin, Irene stole his gun and aimed it at another man. Soon, all the men were down for the count. Checking Archer’s pulse, Jane shook her head.

“Dead.”

“Oh, thank you by the way Mr. Holmes. You were very observant.” Irene hissed at Sherlock, smiling at him with her crimson lips.

“Observant?” Jane asked, forehead crinkling from her frown.

“I didn’t know you noticed so much.” Irene winked suggestively at him.

“We need-to call the police.” Jane said, trying to ignore what Irene was saying.

Going outside, Sherlock made sure his clip was empty before firing his gun several times into the air.

“That takes care of that.” He said.

“Sherlock, really??”

“Shut it, it is quicker.” Sherlock replied, walking back to the safe inside.

Seeing Irene standing by the safe, he pulled the phone out of his pocket.

“There’s the knighthood in the bag.” He said, flipping the phone around.

“Ah-that’s mine.” Irene said, voice strained.

“We went through considerable trouble to get this. I shall be keeping it.” Sherlock smiled, keeping the phone close to him.

“That is my life.”

“Was.” Sherlock corrected her coolly.

“Sherlock!” Jane called from the other room. Running in, he saw the woman from earlier unconscious.

“We need to get her help!” Jane cried.

“First aid kit is in the kitchen.” Irene said, looking at the unconscious figure. Looking uncertainly back at them, Jane turned and hurried away.

“You’re rather calm, for the situation you are in.” Sherlock observed. Walking to her dresser, Irene looked at her reflection.

“Never lose my head…it’s what I always say.” Walking towards him, Irene sighed. “We’re not that different you and I…” She whispered, putting her arm on his shoulder.

“Really?” Sherlock huffed unbelievingly.

“Really. Except, you…you are much more trusting.” She hissed in his ear.

“What?” Feeling a prick at his arm, he looked down to see a needle. Trying to pull it out, Sherlock already felt his limbs in protest.

“Sto-what?”

Reaching at her dresser, she grabbed a whip.

"Drop it!"

_Slash!_

Sherlock felt the sting of the whip as everything grew blurry.

"I-"

_Slash!_

"Said-"

_Slash!_

"DROP IT!" Prying it out of his hand, he was sure she was smirking as she looked at it.

"Ah, thank you. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Wheezing, Sherlock felt like acid was in his throat. When he tried to sit up though, she smiled coquettishly.

"Oh no no no, mon coeur, don't spoil it." She whispered huskily, touching his cheek slightly with her whip. "This. This is how I want you to remember me as. The woman...who beat you."

"What-what's going on?" Jane stammered.

"He'll be fine, I've done it to loads of my friends." Irene said, coolly walking towards the washroom.

"What have you done to him??" Jane cried, turning him to his side.

"You want to know how he opened the safe." Irene asked, smirking.

"How?"

"He's observant. I like that."

"How did he know?"

"Should I tell her?" Sherlock heard her ask him.

"My measurements." She said in a low voice, before gracefully exiting. He heard Jane run towards her and panicked. He didn't want to be alone. He needed help, he needed her!

"Jane-JANE!" He choked.

"Shh...shh, it's okay...it's okay..." Jane whispered, pulling his head on her lap.

"Jane..." He whispered, gripping her knee, trying to stay on the brink of consciousness.

***

At long last, they were permitted to take Sherlock home.

"Alright, up you go." Lestrade grunted, helping Sherlock up.

"Wht-re ya lookin' at? You've never been a cact-apus..." Sherlock slurred. Barking out a laugh, Lestrade looked at him bemusedly.

"He's out of it!"

"I know...oh, don’t take a video Lestrade!" Jane snapped from Sherlock's other side.

“Oh c’mon, I need some good blackmail every now an’ then! I mean look at him, he’s awful!” Lestrade protested.

"Whut? You shtop it...I'm fine...good....GREAT!"

"Yep..." Jane said, patting his back slightly. After managing to haul Sherlock into the police car, Lestrade offered to take them home.

"No...no...I don't want to...I don't..." Sherlock whined, struggling suddenly.

"Sherlock, we're just getting you home, okay? It's going to be okay."

"Not in a police car! Not...not going back...to that place."

Had Sherlock gone to prison once?

"Of course you're not." Jane promised, leaning up to kiss his temple. Grunting, Sherlock leaned his head on her shoulder.

“Help me…”

“I am. We’re going to take you home. Everything will be alright.”

***

“Calling off our date? Jane, we had those reservations for two months!! TWO!” Sanford yelled into the phone.

“I know. I know. But Sherlock needs me.”

“He always needs you Jane!”

“But-he’s sick! I can’t-just leave him!” Jane protested.

“Have Mrs. Hudson take care of him. Is it that difficult for you?”

“Yes! I am a doctor, I need to make sure he will be fine.”

“Alright. I see. I’ll just invite my _Mum_.” Sanford witheringly said into the phone, hanging up.

“Thanks for understanding. A good boyfriend you are.” Jane sarcastically stated at the phone.

“Jane! JANE!!” Jane heard Sherlock shout. Putting down her phone, she hurried into the room.

"Ugh...."

"Sherlock? Hey, look at me..." Squinting, he looked up at Jane.

"Ja....ne?"

"Yes?"

"Why're you here...?" He mumbled.

"Because I thought you'd need me."

"Why would I ever need you?" Sherlock asked sluggishly.

"No idea." Jane asked after a pause.

"There was a woman Jane."

"I know." Hearing the disdain in her voice, he cracked his eyes open.

"She was naked."

"Yeah, I know. C'mon, I'm helping you back to bed." When Jane hoisted him up, Sherlock wrenched out of her grasp and crawled towards the door.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"She-she was here, my coat."

"Sherlock, she wasn't..." Looking at the door, she saw his coat hanging on its hook.

"She was here..." Tracing his cheek, Jane frowned when she saw a faint crimson lipstick stain. She had been here, in this house. And she brought back his coat.

"I wish you didn't say that Sherlock."

"You asked me blonde person."

"She-she-came." There was no way she could leave him alone now. What if that awful woman returned? If she did, Jane would protect him with everything she had. Curling up on the bed, Jane smoothed out his hair.

"Go to sleep Sherlock."

"Ngh, no, can't."

"Yes you can Sherlock." Jane reassured him, adjusting his blankets.

"Mn."

"Look, I'll leave so you can get some sleep." Alarm stabbing him, he suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Don't!" He managed in a strangled sort of way.

"Sherlock, let go, please. You...you need to get rest." Jane said, frowning.

"I d-d-don't want you to Jane. I-want-want you to stay. I like-talking with you."

"I like to talk with you as well." As, he tried to stand up, only to watch the world spin.

"Sherlock! That's why you need to sleep!"

"But there are so many of you..." Closing her eyes, Jane sighed.

"No, I'm only one person Sherlock, see?" Taking his hand, Jane furrowed her brow when she noticed how dilated his pupils looked. It really was sobering to have to see him like this.

"Don't worry Sherlock, I've got you."

"But you shouldn't! I don't have you!" Sherlock suddenly burst out.

"Well yeah, you're the one who needs help!"

"But I haven't got you Jane-I've never got you."

"What...do you mean?"

"He had you and I couldn't get you in time."

"'He? Sherlock...are you talking about Moriarty?" Jane asked in a low voice. Lowering his head, Sherlock gripped her hands.

"Should've-should've kept you close...you were the fifth pip...I was too stupid, stupid, I let you go." Drugged or not, Jane was about ready to hit him right now. Did he really blame himself??

"Shh...Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong. You did everything you could, and you and I couldn't have stopped what happened. What you did do Sherlock, the one thing you've always done right was 'have me'." Confused, Sherlock looked at her. "You've had me from the beginning. From our first case up to now, you have always had my back. No one in my life has ever done that for me. So I had better not catch you beating yourself up again over me. Am I clear?" Jane asked, gently stoking Sherlock's hand with her thumb.

"Jane?"

"Mhm?" She hummed.

"Are you jealous of Irene?" Sherlock asked croakily.

"What kind of question is that?! No, I am not jealous!" Jane snapped as she tried to draw her hands back. Gripping her hands a little firmer, Sherlock looked her in the eyes.

"Jane. Are you jealous?"

"Perceptive for a drugged bloke. What makes you think I am?"

"Because you get mad when we talk about her."

"She drugged you, I get angry just thinking about it."

"You lo-oked jealous." Closing his eyes, Sherlock put his head on the pillows, pulling her down with him.

"You're still holding my hands Sherlock." Jane muttered after a silence.

"I know." He was still waiting for her response. Jane knew, that she would really have to answer this.

"I'm not jealous. I just...she's going to hurt you Sherlock. I don't want to see that happen to you." Jane said, putting her head down.

"Why?"

"Because I..." She didn't want to finish the sentence. Not in her head, and most certainly not aloud. Never aloud.

"Please try to sleep."

"No...I-I have the dreams again."

"Of what?"

"The dreams...always had them when-when I took them..." When he had been taking drugs. Understanding, Jane looked at him silently.

"Then we'll talk instead."

"About what?"

"About anything.” Mumbling random nonsense, she thought he was nearly asleep, when he spoke up again.

"Jane?"

"What is it?"

"What did Irene mean, when she said 'somebody loves you'..?"

"Did she really say that?"

That must have been during the conversation in French.

“I don’t know Sherlock.”

"You don't? Thought.... I thought you knew everything..."

"Apparently, I do not. So, what exactly happened to make you figure out the boomerang?" Jane asked, trying to change the subject. At the end of his deductions, Sherlock finally mumbled himself to sleep, his head on Jane's lap. What did Irene mean? Jane had a pretty good picture of what she meant. And Irene tried to manipulate Sherlock (possibly herself?) with those words. What was Irene getting at? Her thoughts were interrupted by a text tone from Sherlock's phone. One of a...lewd nature. _"Uhn"_

Looking at Sherlock's coat in horror, Jane knew Irene had gotten a hold of the phone. Irene's game of cat and canary wasn't quite done yet.


	5. The Worst Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane truly has a rather awful day.

Waking up, Sherlock looked blearily around, wondering where he might be. Looking around, he noticed he was lying on something. Brain going online, he noticed he was collapsed on a sleeping Jane in a position that probably was not comfortable for her. Grimacing against his throbbing headache, he sat up slowly. Taking off his shirt, Sherlock got up and found a new one, and changed. Picking Jane up slightly, Sherlock put her under the covers and put them securely around her. After going up and getting her a fresh change of clothing, he put it on the foot of the bed and left the bedroom.

“Good morning, Sherlock.” Rolling his eyes, Sherlock disdainfully noticed Mycroft was sitting on Jane’s chair. He hated it, when Mycroft sat in her chair. He didn’t know why, but it just irritated him to see his fat rump in Jane’s chair.

“What are you doing here, Mycroft?”

“Obviously, here to talk about the photos. You lost them.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock responded, stalking over to the kitchen. Shoving some papers and a piece of bread off the table, he picked it up and hauled it into the living room.

“Changing your interior decorating?” Mycroft asked dryly, raising his eyebrows. Grunting a response, Sherlock slammed it in front of Mycroft, and went to get chairs.

“How tedious you are this morning.” Mycroft remarked.

“How rare of you to be here this morning.” Sherlock replied.

“Where is your dear little blogger? I have always imagined that she followed you around like a shadow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock snapped, glaring at him.

“She is so fond of you after all.” Opening his mouth to say something, Sherlock was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson shuffling in.

“Sherlock! How are you feeling?” She crooned, dropping a kiss on his head. Brushing her off a little, Sherlock nodded.

“Better.”

“Well, be sure to thank Jane. She really did take good care of you yesterday.” Mrs. Hudson remarked, before bustling into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

Rubbing his cheek with the bruise she gave him, he smirked ever so slightly.

“I’m sure.” Glaring at Mycroft who seemed to have an almost…leering expression, Sherlock looked at him defiantly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s something. What?”

“You and Jane…get on quite thoroughly, I must say.”

“We’ve been getting on quite well, as colleagues.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Sherlock and Mycroft delved into a silent battle-of-the-wills. He knew Mycroft most likely had some thoughts that Sherlock was perhaps smitten with her. But Sherlock was not. He had never been. Perhaps at some point. But when he saw Moriarty, with her life in his hands, on account of him…never. He would never have sentiment on that level for Jane, period.

“There is nothing going on.” Sherlock snapped at him, as the sound of his door was opening

. When Jane came out of his room, stretching, Sherlock wanted to slam his head on the table. Of course, _of course_ Jane would decide now to be the opportune moment to make an appearance. From his room, no doubt.

“Mycroft.” She frowned, looking at Sherlock to explanation.

“Good morning, Dr. Watson.”

“Good morning…what are you doing here?”

“The case, obviously. I trust you had a good rest?”

“Mn, you could say that. I’m a bit sore.” She complained, massaging her shoulder.

“I see.” Noticing Mycroft’s tone, but choosing not to comment, Jane instead turned back to Sherlock.

“Why’s the table in here?”

“Change of scenery.”

“I made you all some breakfast, so tuck in!” Mrs. Hudson announced, coming in from the kitchen. Hearing the door squeal open, he heard small footsteps. Apparently Rose and her mother decided they wanted to join the social gathering.

“We might as well invite everyone on Baker Street.” Sherlock muttered under his breath, checking the newspaper.

“Hello Sherlock, are you feeling better?” Clara asked, taking a grocery bag to the kitchen.

“We got you some food and medicine. It was my idea to get the biscuits!” Rose cheered, throwing her arms around Jane.

“Hello, Rose.”

“Um…good morning, Mr. Mycroft.” Rose said gingerly, slinking behind Sherlock.

Soon, they were sitting with their breakfasts, and Mycroft went into business.

“And now-the photographs are out of our hands.”

“They’re safe, Mycroft.”

“Yes, in the hands of a fugitive sex worker.” Mycroft snapped. Eyes flashing, Clara glared at him.

“If you would not mind, please be more considerate of Rose!” Clara said, as Rose blinked innocently at Mycroft.

“What’s that, Mr. Mycroft?”

“I’m sure you have toys to play with, or something of that childish nature.” Mycroft ignored her question.

“But, I’m not done eat-”

“-Rose, you’re excused.” Clara said sharply. Noticing her mother’s tone, Rose got up.

“I’m going to go watch Telly, then.” Glaring at Mycroft, Rose took off as Jane gave her an apologetic smile. 

“She’s really not looking at blackmail, at the moment. Did you make the police stand down from storming her home?” Sherlock asked.

“What other choice do we have?” Mycroft asked, frustrated.

“Simple! Treat her like royalty!” Sherlock said, throwing up his hand.

“Though,” Jane said, taking a bite of egg. “Not the way she treats royalty.” Smirking at her, his smile was wiped away when his text alert went off.

“ _Unh!_ ” Double taking, Mycroft scowled at his phone.

“What was that?!”

“A text alert. Means I have received a text.” Sherlock said, as if he did not know why they were shocked.

“That’s not usually the sound your phone makes.” Jane grumbled.

“What noise?”

“ _Unh_!”

“That one.” Jane said, narrowing her eyes at the phone. Grimacing a little, Sherlock turned back to Mycroft.

“Oh, yes, you also forgot to let me know that she was expecting a few CIA agents over. Convenient.”

“Yeah, thank you for that. I always like getting guns pulled on me.” Jane tersely joined in. Overhearing, Mrs. Hudson and Clara exchanged dark looks.

“It’s really a shame, Mycroft, sending your brother in like that. Family is all we have in the end.”

“Oh, shut up Mrs. Hudson!” Mycroft snapped, getting cross with everyone there.

“ _Mycroft_!” Sherlock bellowed, as Jane sharply said: “Knock it off!”

Knowing he’d just added an extra inch to his grave, Mycroft put the napkin on his plate. “I apologise, Mrs. Hudson.” Still frowning, Mrs. Hudson took his plate.

“Thank you.”

“Though, do in fact shut up if you will.” Sherlock said, flipping open his newspaper again.

“I’ll help.” Clara said, glaring at Mycroft and Sherlock both. Rubbing his temples, Mycroft looked at Sherlock over the newspaper.

“I can put maximum surveillance on her.”

“Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I do believe her user name is ‘The Whip Hand’.” Sherlock snorted.

“Yes…you are too funny, little brother.” Phone ringing, Mycroft excused himself and left the room.

“So…nice text alert.” Jane commented, sipping his coffee.

“Isn’t it?”

“Why is it on there?” Jane asked, though she very well knew why.

“I suppose someone put it on as a joke.”

“Hmm, and who do we know would do that?” Jane mocked curiosity.

“ _Unh_!”

“Who knows?” Sherlock asked, eager to change the subject.

“Um, sorry Sherlock, but could you turn it down, or change it? I don’t really want to be getting a bunch of questions from my daughter.” Clara asked him, looking at his phone sceptically. Checking his phone, Sherlock returned to his paper.

“I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?” Jane asked, giving him the perfect opportunity to confess.

“I’ll leave you to your deductions.” Sherlock said, shielding his face with the paper. Swallowing hard, Jane looked out the window. He did not want to tell her. Sherlock told Jane nearly everything. But not this. He was treating her like everyone else. As if, she were another idiotic fool in his life. And it made her twinge.

“You know Sherlock…I’m not…stupid.” Lowering the paper just slightly, he met her eyes.

“What makes you think that?”

_You._

“Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.” Mycroft hung up, re-entering the room.

“Well? What else?” Raising his eyebrows in question, Mycroft looked at Sherlock curiously.

“What else?”

“There’s more than photographs. Americans wouldn’t be trying to kill this woman over a photo. What else is there?” Smiling satirically at them, Mycroft straightened his tie.

“You’re to stay out of this, Sherlock. This is not your concern.” Eye twitching, Sherlock stood up.

“You gave me this case, Mycroft. Put it on my doorstep.”

“Stay. Out. Of. It.”

“We’ll see. Now get _out_.” Sherlock snapped.

“I mean it! You will keep away, and you will have nothing more to do with Irene!” Mycroft snapped. When Mycroft went down the stairs, Sherlock turned around and gave the table a swift kick, making Jane splash scalding coffee on her lap.

“ _Ow_!” She cried out. “

"Who is he to tell me not to do a case? I don’t just sit around like a dog on a leash!” Sherlock snapped. Furious, Jane looked at him.

“You poor child.” She witheringly growled.

“What’s wrong with _you_ now? On his side now?” Sherlock leered. 

“When did this become a thing about sides??” Jane cried, slamming down her coffee mug.

“Since always. We have always been on a side.”

“Great relationship, you two.”

“As do you and your father? When was the last time you've even seen him?” Lashing out at her, Sherlock clenched his fists. Raising her hand, Jane slapped him, making the room fall silent. 

“You have got to stop this! You hit me, and now you’re verbally slamming me. Stop it Sherlock Holmes, I am not a punching bag!” Jane yelled, tears burning in her eyes. Realising his error, Sherlock’s eyes got big.

“Jane-I-I didn’t-realise, I’m-” Stammering, Sherlock looked guilt stricken.

“It’s fine. Well, I’m changing out of my clothes.” Turning around, Jane went up the stairs. Hearing her door slam, Sherlock’s shoulders tensed.

“Apologise to her soon, Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson kindly suggested, patting his shoulder.

Going upstairs, Jane stepped out of her jeans and slammed them into her hamper as hard as she could. Sitting on the bed, Jane wiped away at the burning tears in her eyes. Why? Why did he have to bring up her Dad? Why was he treating her like this? Was he getting bored of her, just like Mycroft had predicted? That night…the night he witnessed her panic attack, he told her he was not bored of her. But, had that changed?

Pulling on a fresh pair of Jeans, Jane looked miserably out the window. At some point, Jane had drifted to sleep. When she woke up again, the flat seemed quiet. She did not really want to go down and face Sherlock. But she could not just hide away like this. Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hair into a ponytail before going downstairs. To her almost disappointment, Sherlock was gone. Looking around, it seemed everyone seemed to have just disappeared. After watching the news for a while, Jane was thinking of just going on a walk, when her phone chimed. Snatching up her phone, she hoped it would be Sherlock. She did not like leaving arguments the way they did.

_Sent 5:25 PM: Hi Jane. I need to talk to you. If you would meet me at the Natural Café, that would be fantastic-Sanford_ Swallowing, Jane stared at the text. She…had a vague feeling that this was not bound to be a good conversation. Pulling on her jacket, Jane felt as if she were going to a trial.

Arriving at the café, she immediately spotted Sanford amongst the young students. She knew the name of this café. It was the one Moriarty had said he was going to, when he….shuddering, Jane walked over.

“Hey…” She greeted him with a smile. Not returning that smile, Sanford solemnly looked at his coffee.

“Sit down, please. You want anything?”

“No, thank you. Is…everything okay?”

“No. No it isn’t, really. We-need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Us. Jane, you and I...we’re different, you and I. To different.” Jane knew right where this was heading. Sighing, she readied herself.

“I like the quiet life. I like knowing my girlfriend is alive and well, and not undercover as someone’s wife, or a drug dealer or something. You like adventure, action. You hate just sitting somewhere, doing nothing. And I liked that about you. But…I just can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep up with cases. And I certainly can’t compete with Sherlock.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

“Put it this way. He’s the first thing you’re looking for when you enter a room. I’m second to him. And I don’t want to be like that.”

“I-I’m not in love with him, and I’m not cheating on you!” Jane said, ears ringing.

Why today? Why did they have to do this, today?

“Not so sure about that anymore. I…think it’s better if we stop seeing each other. Period.” Swallowing, Jane watched him stand up.

“I’m sorry…that I couldn’t be what you needed.” Jane said, looking at her lap.

"No. I'm sorry to. I feel like I pushed you into this, honestly. But, an honest word of advice. Sherlock would be the last person you should be with. You deserve much better." Sanford told her, frowning.   
With that, he walked out of the cafe, leaving Jane to herself. 

He was right…she…she seriously loved that man. He was a lunatic, and today, he treated her like rubbish. Even then…she hated herself right now. She lost a perfectly good boyfriend, was finally coming to terms with herself… Standing up, Jane trekked home, feet trudging. Today…was one of the most horrid days she had had in many, many days. One of those days where she needed a drink and then curl up in bed. Entering her flat, Jane went up the days tiredly. Smelling food cooking, Jane frowned. What was going on upstairs? Opening the door, she slowly walked in to see Sherlock opening the oven.

“Are you…cooking?” Saying nothing, he pulled out a dish from the oven.

“You’re cooking!” Jane exclaimed, smiling slightly.

“Attempted.” Sherlock admitted, sheepishly. As she watched to the table (which was moved back to the kitchen), Sherlock pulled out a chair for her. Raising her eyebrow, Jane took it.

“Is this your way of apologising for acting like a twat?”

“….Yes.” Sherlock grudgingly said.

"Then I forgive you." 

Setting down her food on a plate, he gave her a spoon.

“Why a spoon?”

“Forks are dirty.” Sherlock replied, getting himself some. Taking a bite, Jane fought the gag reflex. Thankfully, it wasn’t that monstrosity he’d made when she had first moved in. Over baked macaroni with slightly burned toast.

“Thanks.” She said, digging in. Nodding, Sherlock picked at his food.

“Did he kiss you goodbye?” Blinking, Jane looked up at Sherlock.

“Sorry?”

“Sanford. I understand people do that sometimes.”

“You mean from chick flicks? No, he…he didn’t.”

“Ah.”

“I feel better about it honestly. Relieved.” Jane tried to reassure him.

Nodding, Sherlock took a bite of food.

“He was an idiot anyhow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest, Sherlock is acting pretty terrible right now. But, it will definitely end well! ;)


	6. Happy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Sherlock host a Christmas party.

The months flew by. Not a whisper of Irene was heard since that day. Sherlock never spoke of her, and neither did Jane. Cases flew by, and soon, it was Christmas time.

“It’d be funny!” Jane joked.

“No.” Sherlock replied immediately, handing her another tack.

“For the spirit of Christmas?”

“No. You will have to hang me if you want to see me in those-things.” Sherlock disgustedly motioned at the pair of velvet antlers.

“Well, if you insist Mr. Scrooge.” Jane smirked, finishing up the Christmas lights.

Phone ringing, Sherlock looked at Jane’s mobile phone. “It’s your mother.” Sherlock mumbled.

Not hearing him, Jane pulled cookies out of the oven. As she pulled out frosting and hummed, Sherlock glanced at the phone. After every phone call, Jane always grew sad, depressed, angry, or all of the above. He did not want that, not today. Looking disdainfully at the caller ID, Sherlock stoically answered the doomed call.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“…You?” Her mother asked, after a pause.

“Yes.”

“Well…might I speak with her?”

“Not now, she’s busy.”

“It’s the first time she’s picked up in a few weeks though!” Her mother cried, frustrated.

After a short silence, Dolores spoke up again. “Just…tell her this. That I’m sorry, and I love her. Please.”

“Alright.”

“And…I am sorry about what I said about you. I get very passionate when I am upset. You seem to be like a fine young man.”

“Thank you.”

“How…how is she?” Dolores asked him.

Sherlock looked over at Jane. She was humming a Christmas tune in an off-tune pitch, and started mumbling about needing more decorations in the kitchen.

“Happy.”

“Thank you…Happy Christmas.” Hanging up, Sherlock frowned and set the phone down.

“You on the phone with someone?” Quiet, Sherlock slipped on an apron and helped her with the cookies.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” Jane asked worriedly, sweeping some hair out of her eyes.

“Your mother.”

“She-called? You didn’t have to answer Sherlock. After what she said about you, I don’t want to-” Sighing, Jane set down the icing.

“-She apologised. About what she said, and to me.” Sherlock admitted, wiping some green frosting off her chin.

“Oh…seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll send her a call. Later.” Jane said, turning back to her cookies. Door squealing open, Sherlock and Jane heard the small tramp of boots.

“Sherlock!! Aunt Jane, there’s snow!” Rose screamed, throwing her boots off as she got into the flat.

“I see that-Rose, you probably should’ve wrapped up!”

“I don’t care! I would’ve gone barefoot, but Mrs. Turner made me wear shoes.” Rose pouted.

“What’cha making?” Rose asked, dragging over a chair.

“Sugar cookies.” Jane grinned, passing her a bowl of frosting and a spoon. As she chatted away about Christmas, and seeing Harry, Jane helped Sherlock set out the food.

“Think you can handle all the people we’re having over?” She teased.

“Of course I am.” Sherlock replied shortly.

“I deal with the morons at Scotland Yard, don’t I?”

***

Clapping at Sherlock’s Christmas carol on the violin, Mrs. Hudson giggled.

“Beautiful job, Sherlock!” She cheered. Nodding, Sherlock picked up his glass of wine.

“You want any more, Mrs. Hudson?” John asked, pouring her a glass.

“Oh you’re a sweetheart! I can tell you and Jane are siblings. Still, it is funny isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson giggled.

“Funny?” John frowned.

“Jane…John, the names sound similar, don’t they?” Exchanging dark looks, Jane sighed.

“Our Dad thought it’d be funny.”

“Especially Jane. _H._ Watson.” John prompted, taking a sip of his drink. Shooting him a look that clearly read: _I thought we agreed to not talk about that,_ Jane shook her head.

“Oh, Mary’s going to be a little late, she got caught in traffic.” John said, checking his phone.

“How long have you an’ her been married?” Lestrade asked, helping himself to a cookie.

“Hm…I think our fourth anniversary is coming up.” John said, after giving the question some thought. Right on cue, the sound of the heavy door scraped open.

“Blimey, it’s cold out there!”

“And that would be Mary.” John said, going down to get her.

“Jane! Hey!” Mary greeted her, immediately giving her a hug.

“Are you feeling better?” Jane asked her, pulling away. Putting her hand on her swelling stomach, Mary laughed.

“Now that the first trimester’s over and done, yes.” Mary leaned over and whispered something to John about Sherlock, before going up.

“And you’re Sherlock?” Walking over, Mary gave him a firm shake of the hand.

“I’m Mary, John’s wife.”

“Hello.” He greeted her once they released hands.

“Oh, everybody’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful.” Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

Looking wistfully at the direction of his room, Sherlock wished for the 29rd time that he could be there, away from everyone. There was only so many Merry Christmases one could give out.

“Oh, hello everyone!” Looking over, he saw Molly coming in, arms loaded with presents. Oh brother. As she removed her thick coat, Sherlock now felt slightly irritated. Apparently she thought this was an all formal party. Much too overdressed and revealing, Sherlock thought.

“We’re doing Christmas drinkies then?” She asked, setting down her bags.

“Of course Dear!” Mrs. Hudson laughed.

“How has your hip been, Mrs. Hudson?” Molly asked her.

“Oh, bit under the weather."

“I have seen much worse-but then, I do preform post mortems.” Jane and Mary were the only ones who laughed at her morbid jest.

“Oh, goodness! Um, sorry, not what you’d like to talk about at-” Molly flushed.

“-Don’t make jokes, Molly.” Sherlock said curtly.

Looking over at Sherlock warningly, Jane brought over a chair for Molly, and did likewise for Mary.

“I’m fine, Jane.” Mary laughed.

“Not good for pregnant women to be on their feet too much. Doctor’s orders.” Jane said seriously.

“Jane?” Sherlock said from the table. Going over, she noticed Sherlock was on her blog.

“Another bomber video?”

“No. The counter on your blog. It still says 1895.”

“What?? Sherlock, that’s terrible! We probably should just cancel Christmas.”

“And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!” Sherlock complained, pointing at the picture of him wearing the deerstalker.

“People like the hat.”

“No they don’t.” Rolling her eyes, Jane left him to the blog.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.” Molly said, as Lestrade handed her red wine.

“That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted.” Lestrade cheerfully explained.

“No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.” Sherlock said, without glancing up. Lestrade’s face fell a little, and his smile more forced. Patting his arm sympathetically, Molly looked over to Jane.

“So, I heard you’re going to see your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Sherlock was complaining…” At Sherlock’s glare, Molly reworded. “…Saying that you’d be gone.”

“First time in a while, he’s pulled it all together. He’s off the alcohol.” As Rose and Clara exchanged hopeful glances, Sherlock intervened.

“Nope.” John frowned over in Sherlock’s direction.

“Shut up, Sherlock.” Jane said through clenched teeth. Why was he acting so wretched? Did he always have to make things about himself? But even there, Sherlock did not stop.

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.”

“Sorry, w-what?”

“In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.”

“Sherlock, c’mon, stop it.” Jane snapped. She knew who this ‘boyfriend’ was.

“Shut up and have a drink.” Lestrade joined Jane in order to save poor Molly.

“Come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.” Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Molly looked down.

“It’s for someone special, then.” He said, picking up the red present.

“The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lo-ve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.” Sherlock said, a jeering tone seeping in. Looking worriedly at Molly, Jane shot the death glare at Sherlock.

“That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and bre…”

Speech stuttering to a halt, he read the tag. _Dearest Sherlock Love Molly xxx_ Opening his mouth slightly, Sherlock felt awful. What he did…was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. By the look in Jane’s eyes, Lestrade’s…Molly’s. He knew that he had let them all down.

“You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always.” Molly said in a weak voice, her eyes filling with tears. Looking down, Sherlock met her eyes.

“I am sorry, Molly. Forgive me.” Sherlock said in a low voice. Surprised, Jane looked at him. She had almost never heard him apologise to anyone. Kissing her cheek, Sherlock drew back. As Molly opened her mouth to speak, Sherlock’s text tone sounded off.

_“Unh!”_ Cheeks matching the gift, Molly’s hands shook.

“No! That wasn’t ... I – I-not me-”

“No, it was me.” Sherlock said.

“What?? Really?!” Lestrade asked, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“Honestly Lestrade, it’s the bloody phone.” Jane explained as Sherlock took out the phone. At the sight of the phone, Jane looked angry and offended.

“Fifty-seven.”

“Sorry?” He asked.

“Fifty-seven of those texts that I heard.”

Reading the text, all it said was: _Mantelpiece_

“Thrilled to see you’ve been counting.” Sherlock said simply to her, looking her in the eyes.

Did he know that she was jea-no. She was not jealous. Why would she be? Jane had no reason to feel as if she were competing. Finding a wrapped box that was hidden by the lights of the mantel piece, Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“Excuse me.” He said, going into his room. Once the door was closed, Jane went into the kitchen and poured herself a drink.

“Why is he acting like this? Is he always like this?” John asked her, joining Jane by the counter.

“…Well…no. He’s a more scaled down version of this. But…it’s complicated. I’m sorry you had to meet him when he’s in this state.”

“You should go check on him.” John said, nodding in the direction Sherlock left. Closing the door to his room behind him, Sherlock hesitated only briefly before unwrapping the box. There, in his palm, lay Irene Adler’s phone. Her protection. Heart sinking slightly, Sherlock pulled out his own phone and phoned his brother.

“Good Lord, we’re not doing Christmas phone calls, now are we brother?” Mycroft tiredly asked.

“I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.” Hearing his door creak open, he saw Jane standing in the doorway.

“Well, I would know that. We have her under surveillance, and follow her on _Twitter_ , as you so kindly said.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that you’re going to find her dead.”

Silence.

“We…will send a search party. What makes you say this?” Not answering, Sherlock ended the call.

“Hey…is everything…okay?” Jane asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes.” He said, staring at the phone. Looking at the phone, and at him, Jane saw his coat on the bed. Walking over to it, she took it and forced his arms through it.

“Okay, go. I’ll keep the party going.” Finding his scarf, Jane looped it over him and tied it.

“Just…please be careful, alright?” She said softly, smoothing out his coat.

Thanking her silently for understanding, Sherlock walked out.

“Molly, we might need you at the morgue.” The party fell silent.

“Of…of course.” Molly said, getting her coat.

“C’mon Sherlock, can’t this wait?” Lestrade asked.

“No.”

“Well, nice meeting you…” Mary said, frowning as Sherlock and Molly descended the stairs.

“Jane, are you going to stop him?” Mary asked her, watching he and Molly enter a taxi.

“No.” Jane said, pulling the curtain shut.

***

Dead. Her face was so bashed in that at first, no identification could be made. But one look at her told Sherlock. This was indeed Irene Adler, and she was indeed dead. Why? Why had she given him the phone? If he knew she would die, he would have done something to protect her. And now, it was too late. Stepping out into the hallway with Mycroft, he looked sceptically at the cigarette Mycroft offered him.

“Isn’t there a…law thing, against this?”

“What harm will it do? Everyone here is dead.” Mycroft said, lighting his own, before offering the lighter to Sherlock. Taking it from him, Sherlock lit it, and blew out the smoke. He realised this was the first smoke he had since meeting Jane.

“How did you know that she would die?” Mycroft asked finally.

“She had something in her possession that she gave away.”

“And where is this possession now?” Hearing a sob, Sherlock looked over. Further down the hallway, he saw a woman. Grasping her sides, she sunk to the floor in a defeated sob. The man next to her crouched next to her, his shoulders shaking with the anguish his soul must have felt. The pain they felt, the truth that this deceased person would never again share a Christmas with them, was evident in the pain that showed in the two people.

“Look at them…” Sherlock murmured.

“They all care so much.”

“And us so little.” Mycroft sardonically stated.

Before this year, Sherlock probably would not have cared. The memory of Irene’s beaten corpse would not be burned into his mind, the sight of children’s corpses from long ago cases would not reoccur in dreams, bombs on Jane would not implode his vision. What happened? What made Sherlock feel this way?

“Do you ever feel…that something is wrong with us?” Sherlock heavily asked, blowing out more smoke.

“Sherlock,” Turning to Sherlock, Mycroft sighed.

“All lives will end. All hearts are someday broken. Caring, is not an advantage.”

Was he speaking about Jane? Sherlock knew it too. He knew that sooner than later, she’d die. Most likely because of him. He knew, that he would find a way to break her heart.

“Still…you barely even knew her.” Mycroft said as Sherlock snuffed out the cigarette. Looking back at the body under the sheet, Sherlock swallowed.

“…Yes.” Walking away, he went towards the door. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”

“And a Happy New Year.” Mycroft said back.

***

Idly pretending to read a book, Jane flipped through the pages. Every time there was the smallest noise, she would strain her ears to see if it were Sherlock. Alas, he hadn't returned from the morgue, which had been hours ago. He had left the morgue, no doubt. But where had he gone off to? Hearing her phone ring, she saw that it was Mycroft. Rolling her eyes slightly, she answered.

"Mycroft?"

"He’s on his way home. Did you all search the flat?"

“Yeah, nothing. There was nothing, anywhere.” Jane said.

“I see.”

“Why? What happened?” Hearing a resigned sigh on the other line, Jane frowned.

"Mycroft...?" "You are to stay with him this week."

"No. I am going to Harry's with Clara and my niece, I-"

"Stay with him, Jane." Mycroft insisted.

"Hey!"

Click.

Well, this was just brilliant. Something awful happened, and now she probably would not be going to Harry's. Making a silent descent down the stairs, Jane pulled on her coat and gloves and pushed the heavy wood door open. She would just have to find Sherlock herself. After calling and texting several times, Jane was irritated that there was no answer. Where on earth was he? Where would he go? Then she remembered. Tim. He had known him longer than Jane. Perhaps he might know a place. Phoning him, Jane walked around in the snow.

“Hello?”

“Tim, hi. This is Jane. Um, Sherlock took off a while ago. Tell me, is there any place he might go when he’s…I don’t know, upset?”

“Did somethin’ happen?”

“Well, yes, but that's not important.”

“Well…he might have gone to a park.”

After writing down directions that Tim gave her, Jane took a cab. Anxiously looking in the streets, she hoped Sherlock would be seen. But, there was nothing but last minute shoppers and heavy snowfall. As soon as the cab stopped, she hurriedly paid him and ran out, looking for Sherlock. Finding where the park was, Jane saw a fresh set of footprints. They had to be Sherlock’s! Brushing past snow covered bushes, she looked around. And there he was, sitting on a white bench, alone. "Sherlock?" Her voice sounded quiet, even to herself.

Seeing a silhouetted figure turn and look at her, Jane silently approached him.

"You've been here for hours." Silent, Sherlock's eyes glinted as he stared ahead.

Jane noticed how the light from a streetlamp made Sherlock’s eyes even darker than usual. He also smelled of cold wind and a cigarette.

"Did you find out what happened to Irene?"

"She's dead." He said monotonously. Unsure of what to say, Jane sat beside him.

“You’ll get sick.” She said, in a feeble attempt to have him leave. Not looking at her, Sherlock stared straight ahead. After quite some time had passed, Sherlock stood up.

"They had better not have disturbed my sock index this time."

"I made sure they didn't." She replied, rising.

"Let's get a cab."

"No. I…would rather walk." Sherlock answered quietly.

"Okay." As they quietly walked the street, Jane worriedly glanced at Sherlock.

"But...you didn't know her that long."

"Yes." She wanted to take his hand. Jane wanted to offer a source of comfort, a sign he was not alone.

She hinted at it, but his hand stayed, clenched away in his pockets. When it was obvious he wanted to be left alone, she gave up and put her almost blue hands in her own pockets. As they trekked through the snow, Jane looked at the sky above them. The sky was silent and grey, snow floating gently down on them. The streets were unusually silent tonight. Most likely for the reason that it was Christmas Eve. No doubt families were in their homes, hotels, or whatnot, enjoying their company. Sherlock and she however, were not. His eyes were a stormy blue, and blank. Drawing in a slow breath, Jane reached up and gently touched his arm, as he unlocked their door.

"I just....it wasn't your fault Sherlock."

"I know." He affirmed blankly, still not returning the gaze Jane wanted.

But did he really? Jane didn't believe those words for an instant. If he didn't blame himself, how could his eyes possibly hold so much misery and self-blame? As they went up the stairs, Jane looked at him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

And with that, Sherlock shut himself into his rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are confused about Jane's mother's conversation with Sherlock, please read chapter 22 of "The Further Adventures of Jane and Sherlock".


	7. A Happy New Year

Jane had many gloomy Christmases in her life. The first Christmas without Dad, the Christmas where Harry went to rehab, and one particular military Christmas. But this, was one of the worst. Sherlock stayed in his rooms all day. Mrs. Hudson and Jane tried to ignore the gloom, but it was difficult.

Clara was furious that Jane would not accompany her and Rose. Clara disliked being alone with Harry, because it gave Rose hope they would remarry. When Jane told her that Sherlock needed her, Clara shook her head angrily and got in the cab. With no Clara, Rose or Sherlock, it was quite lonely. As they finished a Christmas dinner for two, Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock's door and sighed.

"Poor dear," she said.

"If there was only some way to cheer the poor boy up." Nodding, Jane cleared the table.

After the kitchen was good and clean, Jane looked at Sherlock’s door for the thousandth time. He hadn’t come out even once, not since last night. Making him a plate, Jane went to the door. Taking a deep breath, Jane pushed the door open.

"Hey there. I brought you some dinner." Jane said softly, pushing open the door.

Not answering, Sherlock's eyes stayed glued to the screen as he rapidly typed. He truly looked awful. His hair was unruly, he hadn’t shaved, and his eyes had dark circles. For a moment, Jane worried that he had used drugs, but his hands didn’t shake, his eyes weren’t red, and he knew the door opened. Setting his dinner on his nightstand, Jane went out momentarily before returning with a box.

"I had forgotten this earlier, but...I'd forgotten to give you your Christmas present."

"Set it by the door." Sherlock said, not glancing her way.

Swallowing a little against the crushing feeling she had just felt, Jane managed a smile.

"Yeah.” Putting it down, Jane backed out. “Be sure to eat." Closing the door, Jane felt empty.

She had put a lot of thought and time into that gift. She had heard Sherlock complain sometimes about the quality of his microscope, had even frowned into the grainy machine herself. So, saving and scrimping, she finally had made enough to splurge, and get him one. She hadn’t expected him to squeal like a teenage girl. But, some sort of appreciation for it would have been welcome. At her own thoughts, Jane felt angry.

_Stop it! He just lost someone! You’re being selfish Jane!_ She screamed at herself in her head. Going into the living room, Jane looked around the quiet room. There was only so much Jane could celebrate alone. Feeling defeated, Jane let out a small sigh, and trudged to her room. Closing her door, Jane toed off her shoes and collapsed on her bed, still in her clothing. Pulling her blanket over her head, Jane just wanted this awful, lonely Christmas to be over.

***

It’d been an awful week of this. Sherlock did not speak at Jane, and strangely, still would not look her in the eyes. She felt as if she were a ghost, or a shadow when Sherlock was in the room. He seldom spoke, his eyes were downcast, and the only sounds that he made were that his violin made. He played the violin from dawn to dusk. Every morning, Jane would awake to the lonesome cry of the violin, and would sleep at the sound of sorrow.

It was truthfully, pathetic. He acted as a damsel with a pining heart. He would probably look good on one of those tragedy book covers. Hearing the violin go off for the thousandth time, with the same tune, Jane felt as if her head would combust into flames.

As she watched Mrs. Hudson try and coax Sherlock to play a different song, Jane formulated an idea. Mrs. Hudson knew him well enough. Perhaps she would be able to tell Jane a bit of his history.

“Has he ever had anyone special?” Jane asked quietly.

“I’d say you, Dear.” When Jane raised an eyebrow, Mrs. Hudson sighed.

“I…don’t know. Never asked him. But, do you really see Sherlock in love with someone?”

Truthfully, she couldn’t. Sherlock wasn’t exactly the type to skip down a garden with some maiden fair.

“Well…no. I just…wish I could help, somehow.”

“Oh, he’ll come round Jane, just give it time.”

Perhaps Mycroft knew. And perhaps, Jane might be able to convince him.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Mrs. Hudson.” Going down the stairs, Jane opened the door.

Apparently, Mycroft had similar ideas.

“Are you Jane Watson?” A pretty woman asked her, hands on hips.

“…You know Mycroft could just call me, like a normal human being.” Jane grumbled, getting into the car.

***

It didn’t quite look like one of their normal spots. It was a cold, metal building, which seemed to be abandoned. However, when they first met, he had made her go to a warehouse. Frowning, Jane got out.

“Is he in there?” Jane asked, as the woman stood by the car.

“Yeah. Just walk over there.”

Doing as she was told, Jane looked around sceptically. It pissed her off beyond all measure to know that Mycroft had not once asked about, or checked on Sherlock. He was Sherlock’s brother, he ought to care! Ever since Christmas, not a peep had been heard from Mycroft. Not until now.

“It’s good of you to finally act like a brother. He barely talks…doesn’t eat…probably doesn’t sleep. All he’s been doing is sawing away at that violin. But, he is Sherlock. He does all of that….anyway…” Trailing off, Jane heard the clack of Prada shoes. There, standing there in a black fur coat, stood the smirking Irene Adler.

All of the grief, all of the pain…and this woman had the gall to be alive. She felt as if the air left her diaphragm. These things only happened in the Telly and books. Not in real life.

“Tell him. Tell him you’re alive.” Was all Jane could muster, her lungs conspiring against her. 

“I can’t. He’d come after me, you know.” Irene sighed. 

“Look-you- _tell_ him you’re alive or I’ll-I’ll-”

“-Tell him yourself? By all means. I’m sure he’ll take it better from you.” 

“He won’t. Sherlock will want to hear this from you. Why do you want him to know you’re alive? Why are you still alive?” 

“Disappointed? I’d imagine. What with me standing between Sherlock and yourself. I must be such a hassle.” Irene said, a gloating smile on her face.

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

“Come now, we’re both women. We also know that men never resist people like me.”

Irene was right. Jane knew this. Irene was everything that Jane was not. She wouldn’t lie, Irene seemed to be exactly what Sherlock would want. A beautiful, intelligent woman, who could put his own intellect to the test.

“You never answered my real question. Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Look, I made a mistake. I gave Sherlock something, and now I need it back.” Laughing coldly, Jane shook her head. 

“No. No, I know what you want. You want me to get it back for you. Well, that’s just too bad. I’m telling Sherlock, and I still won’t help him.” As she turned to walk away, Irene spoke up.

“What if I said that Sherlock is in danger, so long as he has what’s mine?” Stopping, Jane sneered. 

“Stop it. You are lying. You just now tried to manipulate me into some kind of confession, and now, you’re trying to manipulate me into getting this thing for you.” Smiling to herself, Irene looked at the livid woman. 

There was no chance she’d be getting her phone back. At least, she might as well have a bit of fun.

“Manipulate you into a confession? You are jumping to conclusions, Jane. People often go and jump to the conclusion that they would like to avoid.”

“Avoid? I am not avoiding anything!” 

“Oh, stop feigning. We both know you’re in love with him.” Opening her mouth, Jane looked down.

“I…am…not in love with Sherlock.” 

“It’s written all over your face. You’re in love. You’re in love, and you are too afraid to admit it to even yourself.” Irene was trying to catch her, trap her. She was messing with Jane’s mind on purpose, and Jane wouldn’t let her win.

“My-my feelings have nothing to do with this! For the last bloody time, tell him you’re alive!”

“Fine.” Whipping out her phone, Irene patronizingly read out her text as she typed it. “Not dead. Let’s have dinner.” Raising her hand in the air, Irene clicked send.

“There.”

“What…do you send him anyway?” 

“Just normal stuff.” Irene sniffed. 

“Like what?” 

“For a woman who’s not in love, you’re annoyingly persistent. Let’s see… ‘Hello, I like your funny hat. Let’s have dinner. Not hungry, let’s have dinner, saw you on the Telly. Let’s have dinner.” 

“You’ve been flirting with Sherlock-?”

“-At,” Irene corrected. “He never replies.”

“He always replies.” 

“Guess that makes me special then, hm?” Silent, Jane glared at her. 

“ _Unh!_ ” Turning to where the sound was, Jane’s mouth fell open slightly. Sherlock had heard every word of that conversation. He had followed her. When she heard the sound of his footsteps, Jane tried to speak up, to say something, anything. When Jane tried to get past Irene, Irene held a gloved hand up. 

“I wouldn’t. Give it a few hours.” She warned. 

This sent a fission of anger through Jane. She now was giving Jane advice? What infuriated her more, was the fact that Irene was indeed correct. 

“I’m only warning you once. Don’t lay a finger on Sherlock Holmes. You understand? You mess with him, and I swear you will fiercely regret it.” She threatened, eyes smoldering.

“Will I?” Irene’s brow raised amusedly. 

“Yep.” Jane replied coldly. Turning on her heel, Jane walked away.

“I can still offer you a ride back.” Irene called after her. 

“No thanks.” Stalking away, Jane went out on her way.

*** 

Maybe she should have taken up on that offer. It took her twenty minutes just to find a cab. Driving home, Jane paid and got out. She needed to have a talk with Sherlock. No doubt there were so many misunderstandings. She worried that he had heard the whole conversation. What would he say about that? Reaching the doorway, Jane’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right. Looking at the note, Jane’s suspicions confirmed. 

_ Crime in progress. Please disperse. –SH  _

Yes, something was definitely up. Making sure her gun was ready, Jane pushed the door open.

“Hello…?” She called out softly. All she heard was muffled voices upstairs, Jane went up the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps.

“Sherlock…?” Opening the door, Jane looked around. 

A man in black, was tied up, bleeding, and gagged in their living room. If that wasn’t enough, an injured Mrs. Hudson was crying into her hands on the sofa. Looking at the floor, there were a pair of pliers, and bruises around Mrs. Hudson’s mouth. She had seen these sorts of things before. For some unknown reason, they had attempted to pull her _teeth_ out. 

“What…is going on here?” She asked haltingly, looking at Sherlock. 

“Restoring balance to the world. Some American just attacked Mrs. Hudson.” 

“What’s…what’s wrong with you?” Jane growled, glaring at the man.

Come to think of it, she had indeed seen him before. He was in Mrs. Adler’s house that day. The man who nearly had her shot. Only foul men like him would even think of harming Mrs. Hudson.

“An idiot like him couldn’t answer that. He had too many issues to count. Take Mrs. Hudson downstairs.”

“Ok, c’mon Mrs. Hudson. It’s alright now.” Jane soothed her, helping her up.

“Oh-I’m just being so silly!” Mrs. Hudson burst into tears, burying her head in her hands again.

“No, no you aren’t. You aren’t. Let’s go.” Stopping at the doorway, Jane added:

“Take care of him, will ya?” 

Nodding, Sherlock dialled in a number on his mobile.

*** 

“It stings.” Mrs. Hudson sniffled as Jane dabbed some rubbing alcohol on the crest of her cheek. 

“Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle. Are you okay?”

“Yes-sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologise. This is not on you. It’s on that horrid beast we’ve got upstairs!”

“Really, and on New Year’s!” Mrs. Hudson joined Jane’s outrage. 

“You’d think he’d have better things to do.” Jane sighed. 

“Agreed. Now-” Hearing a crash, Jane looked out Mrs. Hudson’s window. The agent, was lying on their rubbish bins. 

“Ooh…that was right on the bins.” Mrs. Hudson cringed, worried for her bins.

“We can get you some new ones.” Jane promised, closing the lace drapes.

Boiling them some tea, Jane tried to think of new things to chat about. How Clara and Rose were going to return tomorrow, the latest case they worked on, Jane’s blog, Mrs. Hudson’s latest gossip. Anything but Sherlock and Irene. She didn’t want to think about them right now. Hearing police sirens, Jane looked out the window again. It had gotten darker, and the cars were finally showing up. Hearing Sherlock go down the stairs, Jane stuck her head out of the door. 

“Want me to come out?” 

“No.”

*** 

“Then she’s alive?” Mrs. Hudson gasped in astonishment.

“Yeah. Irene didn’t want Sherlock to know though.”

“How did he find out then?” 

She wasn’t eager to admit Sherlock had trailed her.

“I told him anyway. I don’t recall having to take orders from _her_.” Jane said 'her' as if she were talking of old cheese and socks.

“I wonder how Sherlock’s feeling about that?”

“So am I…” Jane murmured, touching the side of her polka dot mug.

Hearing the door beads rattle, she looked up to see Sherlock coming in. Nodding her greeting, Jane took a sip of tea.

“How was it Love?” Mrs. Hudson asked as Sherlock opened the fridge. 

“Boring.” He declared, pulling out some leftovers. 

“She needs to sleep in our flat tonight.” Scoffing at her, Sherlock shook his head. 

“Nonsense. She’s fine.”

“No she’s not! She’s in shock!” Jane argued, motioning at Mrs. Hudson.

“Dear, I’m fine.” Mrs. Hudson insisted.

“But-you’re not! Maybe you need to take a vacation, visit your sister.” 

“Shame on you, Jane.” Sherlock said.

“On me??” Jane blinked.

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall.” Sherlock proclaimed, giving Mrs. Hudson a side hug.

“All of this over a stupid phone. Where is it anyway?” Jane asked, putting a hand on her temple.

“In the safest place I know.” 

“Is not, you stupid lump!” Pulling her phone out of her bra, Mrs. Hudson gave it to Sherlock.

“It was in your dressing gown. I pulled it out when they thought I was having a cry.”

Laughing, Jane watched Sherlock gingerly pocket the phone. 

“You’re something else Mrs. Hudson!”

“Aren’t I?” The three dissolved into relieved laughter. The clever Mrs. Hudson really was okay.

“I guess we’re not doing the New Years’ plan?” Jane sighed as they ate leftovers.

“Next year then.” Sherlock proposed. 

“Next year.” Jane agreed.

***

Once they returned upstairs for the night, Jane felt out of place. She didn’t know what to say about Irene, him, or any of it. Sitting on her chair, Jane pretended to read.

“So…” working up the courage, Jane finally said it.

“She’s alive then.”

“She is alive.” He confirmed, starting their fire up. 

“You know I…was going to tell you she was alive.”

“I heard you.”

As well as the other tête-à-tête. That was not mentioned however, and for that, Jane was grateful.

“How do you feel about that?” 

P icking up the violin, Sherlock looked out the window.

“Think you’ll be seeing her again?” Bringing the violin to his chin, Sherlock watched the snow float down. 

“Happy New Years, Jane.” 

“Happy New Year.” She murmured as he began to play. 

She had so many questions. So many questions, that she wondered if they would ever receive an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so angsty lately. I promise, these two will work this out.


	8. Cat and Canary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Sherlock receive an unwelcome visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have news! I will not be able to update for a little while. I'm traveling to a remote place that doesn't have internet. However, while I'm up there, I will be writing up new chapters and shorts! I will miss you guys though :)

Winter melted away to spring. They had not heard from Irene, or even Mycroft. Everything seemed at peace for a while. They solved cases, had the occasional quarrel, and life seemed normal. As they returned from a particularly gruelling case, Sherlock stretched as he entered the flat. Going to the kitchen to look for food, he stopped when he smelled something. Perfume. He remembered this particular smell. Eyes narrowing, he noticed the kitchen window was unlatched. Flipping it open, he looked down and then reclosed it.

“Sherlock, you forgot to put the laundry into the dryer! It mildewed!” Jane shouted up at him. Ignoring her, Sherlock followed the scent to his room. Stopping, Sherlock’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Jane, we have a client.”

“What,” Jane snorted as she joined him. “In your bedroom-” Stopping, her mouth fell open slightly.

Irene Adler, was curled up and sleeping in Sherlock’s bed. Exchanging looks, Jane and Sherlock slowly backed out.

“O…okay. What do we do?” Jane whispered as they went to the kitchen.

“We see what the woman wants, obviously.” Sherlock muttered.

Getting a beer out, Jane wordlessly passed one to Sherlock.

“We’ll need it.” Jane said, opening hers.

At least she hoped he needed one. A small part of her wanted him to be as unpleased to see Irene, as she was. That was not the case, however. Putting the beer down, Sherlock rather looked thrilled at the prospect. The game was on. The game of cat and canary. Hearing footsteps, they looked over to see Irene emerge, wrapped up in Sherlock’s navy blue robe. At the sight, Jane looked away. She didn’t like seeing that at all.

“Hello…” She breathed, immediately looking at Sherlock. Nodding his hello, Sherlock sat in his chair.

“Why are you here?” Stretching, Irene composed an answer. “Because…I knew that I’d be fine here. I’ve had to go into hiding.”

“Why?”

“Because, Mr. Holmes, people are trying to kill me.”

“Who?”

“Killers.” Irene shrugged.

“Would help if you were more specific on that.” Jane remarked.

“Why?” Irene sniffed.

“Why do you think?” Jane asked patronisingly.

“And why do you think I would help?” Sherlock asked.

“Because, Darling, you can’t resist it. Is my phone safe?” Irene raised her eyebrows in question.

“Yes.”

“Excellent. May I see it?”

“No.” Sherlock stubbornly replied.

“Why not?”

“Because, it was a gift. Rather rude to return Christmas gifts, don’t you think?” Sherlock retorted.

“Perhaps. I’d still like to see it.”

“You think it’s here? We’re not stupid y’know.” Jane spoke.

“People must know you have it. They’re watching you.”

“If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago.”

“But I need it!” Irene argued.

“Then, can’t we go get it? Molly Hooper could then give it to one of the homeless network, who could bring it here.” Jane suggested.

“Brilliant Jane.”

Jane couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. Sarcastic, she knew when he pulled out the phone from his pocket.

“So-what do you generally have on here?”

“Photos, papers, that sort of thing.”

“Blackmail.” Jane said.

“Blackmail? I like to think of it as protection.”

“How do you acquire your information?” Sherlock asked him, twiddling with the phone.

“I misbehave. That’s the only way to get anything you want.” Jane begged to differ.

“But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?” Sherlock asked.

“No. I don’t understand it well.”

“I assumed. Let me see.” He said as she stretched out her hand.

“Passcode.” He said, keeping it back. Taking it from him, Irene typed in the number. At a loud alarm sound, she frowned.

“What?” Irene frowned as Sherlock took it from her.

“Thank you. You have just entered the numbers 1058 into a duplicate of your phone. I thought you would have a more specific number, but…” Pulling the real phone out of his pocket, Sherlock typed in the numbers, only to be let with the same alarm sound. Looking at the phone, Sherlock scowled.

_INCORRECT PASSCODE: 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING_

“You don’t think I wouldn’t know my own phone? I told you, it’s my protection.” Irene smugly said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, you’re quite good.” Sherlock complimented her.

“You as well, Love.”

“Hephzibah.” Looking at her in surprise, they both stared at Jane, who was sitting at the table by the window.

“Sorry?” Irene asked.

“That’s my middle name. Y’know, just in case you happened to be looking for baby names.” Jane grumbled, flipping up an old newspaper.

“Your parents must have been something to give you such an awful middle name.” Irene rolled her eyes as she unlocked the phone.

“There was an MOD official. Liked showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time. Can you read it?”

Looking at the subject title, Sherlock read 007 confirmed allegation, along with the throng of letters and numbers strung together.

“A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it. Couldn’t figure it out.” Irene sighed.

Jane had a feeling Irene also knew what the cryptographer preferred.

“My question is, can you, Mr. Holmes?” Irene purred. Staring at the letters and numbers, Sherlock’s brain lapsed towards his mind palace.

“Go on…” Irene whispered, leaning closer to Sherlock.

“Impress a girl.” Leaning in, Irene kissed the crest of his cheekbone, then smiled over at Jane, who was staring daggers at her.

“There’s a margin for error but I’m pretty sure there’s a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it’s going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds.”

He solved it that fast. Sherlock was happy to show off. Usually he took an annoyingly long time to get to the point, but not now. Not for Irene Adler. Staying silent, Jane watched the two. Sherlock explained it further to both women. Out of all of the words, the only thing Jane could actually understand was something about Heathrow airport.

“Please do not feel obligated to tell me I am brilliant, fantastic, or good at my job. Jane has expressed those words in every word of the English language.” When Jane raised her eyebrow at him, Irene smirked.

Turning to Sherlock, Irene put her hand on his shoulder. “I’d have my way with you right now, right here, until you beg for mercy twice.”

Startled, Jane looked up at them.

“Jane, check the flight schedules in Heathrow airport and see if any of them have anything to do with 007.” Sherlock said, his eyes not leaving Irene’s.

“Um-uh-yeah-sure.” Jane choked slightly as she hurriedly glanced down.

“I don’t beg.”

“ _Twice_.”

“Eh-here, I found something.” Jane spoke up, trying to pretend she didn’t hear that conversation. “Right there. Flight 007.”

“What does 007 mean?” Sherlock asked, pacing. Sitting in his chair, Sherlock sat down to think.

Going to sit down to, Irene blocked Jane’s path by sitting opposite him in Jane’s chair. At this, Jane couldn’t take it any longer. Grabbing her jacket, Jane stalked down the stairs. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t. The last thing she saw before going down was Irene’s victorious smile. Jane was really out of damns to give. Slamming the door behind her, Jane went next door and knocked on the door. Opening the door, Mrs. Turner smiled at her.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m just going up to see Clara.” Going up the stairs, Jane stopped short as she reached the door.

“Harry-just-listen to me! I know, but-you promised, and now-no, no you don’t get to see Rose-no, not until you clean up your act! This is _why_ we got a divorce in the first place!” Clara was yelling into the phone.

Feeling a tug on her sweater, Rose cast her tear-filled eyes up into Jane’s. Although the little girl said nothing, Jane knew. She needed to get out for a bit. Jane once had those same eyes. How ironic that although Harry swore to never make his kid feel this way, her niece was already going down the same path Jane was.

“C’mon.” Jane whispered, tucking her small hand into her own.

She took her to see a cartoon at the theatre. As she watched Rose’s eyes light up with delight, Jane smiled softly at her. Trying not to think of the confining movie theatre, Jane tried to watch the movie. She didn’t want to think of Sherlock and Irene. Jane didn’t know how much more she could take of this. As the credits came on, Jane and Rose walked out of the theatre.

“I love the part where he falls out of the witches’ spell! And then, he went running to his princess!!” Rose squealed, skipping down the street.

“I liked that too…” Was she a complete sap to relate to the princess? Watching her prince being ensnared by a witch? The similarities of the situation were not lost on Jane.

“Are you and Sherlock…?” Trailing off, Rose picked at a piece of fuzz on her shirt.

“Are we what?”

“Are you two going to be together?” Rose blurted out.

“Oh…what makes you think that?”

“Because you both love each other.” Rose mumbled.

Stopping in her tracks, Jane looked down at Rose.

“Rose…we’re not in love with each other. He’s just…just my friend. We’re not…not like those two in that movie.” She was right. Sherlock wouldn’t break out of a spell. He wouldn’t go chase down Jane. And he most certainly wouldn’t profess his undying love. It wasn’t a cartoon. It was real life.

“Why do you think we’re in love?”

"You look at Sherlock like Mum and Dad used to look at each other.” Feeling a pang of guilt, Jane kept going.

Poor Rose. It was never easy having to being in the middle of divorce.

“Aunt Jane…?” Rose’s voice quavered.

"What Sweetheart?”

“Did…did Mum and Dad divorce ‘cause of me?” Frowning Jane led her to a bench and sat.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because-because the week before Mum took us away, I-I told Dad and Mummy that I hated them and to stop fighting.” Rose said in a small voice, a few tears leaking out of her big brown eyes.

“Rose…” Smoothing out her hair, Jane gave her a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“B-but-”

“-Don’t blame yourself, alright? That was your Mum and Dad’s decision, not yours.” Wiping her eyes, Rose nodded as they both stood up.

“Thanks Aunt Jane…”

“Of course. Now, want to go to Angelo’s and…?” Car rolling beside them, Jane frowned. “May I…help you?” She asked, drawing Rose behind her.

“We need you.” Anthea said, getting out of the car.

“…Why, what’s wrong?”

“We’ll let you know. Both of you, in.”

After dropping Rose off, they were on their way to what looked like Mycroft’s home.

“Why are we going here?” Jane asked Anthea.

“Because Sherlock’s messed up.”

***

“The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.” Sherlock said, looking around at the plane of dead bodies.

“Neat, don’t you think?” Mycroft asked, baring his teeth slightly as he smiled.

“How’s the plane going to fly? Of course, the unmanned aircraft. It’s hardly new, is it?” Sherlock hummed, looking around. Inhaling, Mycroft continued to smile.

“It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything.” Looking around almost sadly at the scene, Mycroft shook his head.

“One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning _finished_.”

“Your MOD man.”

“That’s all it takes. One lonely, miserable man. One man, desperate for attention, desperate for praise and love. And one clever woman to make him feel that way.”

“Perhaps you should survey your defence men more carefully-”

“I’m not talking about MOD men Sherlock, I am talking about YOU!” Mycroft yelled the last part.

“What?” Sherlock stumbled back.

“You have a fetish for damsels in distress who always are the ruin of you. First, there’s Dr. Jane Watson, who will be out of your life soon, and then Ms. Irene Adler. In the end, are you really that unpredictable?”

“What do you mean Jane will be-?”

“-After tonight, I doubt she will return.” Mycroft said, seeming sad somewhat. He had grown somewhat fond of the stubborn doctor.

“I did not assist a _damsel_.” Sherlock indignantly said.

“Really? The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption, then give him a puzzle, and watch him dance.”

“This is absurd!”

“How long did it take you to deduce the message? A minute?” Hearing heels, he watched Irene strut in.

“I think less than eight seconds honestly.” She said, smirking with her crimson lips.

“Mr. Holmes, we need to talk.”

“I agree. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on…” Sherlock was cut off by Irene’s growing smirk.

“Oh no, not you, Junior. I’m finished with you now.” Irene laughed cruelly, walking past Sherlock.

“There’s more, much more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole life, world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother?” Irene pouted slightly at the end, before smirking again at them both.

“Let’s…discuss this at home.” Mycroft said resignedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what a place to end the first chapter. I have some really wonderful ideas for the upcoming chapters however!


	9. Obvious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a really lovely vacation, I am finally back! While I was away, I wrote a lot of shorts and have story plans mapped out. Hope you enjoy!

Walking into the living room, Sherlock’s gut dropped slightly. Sitting in an arm chair by the large fireplace, sat Jane Watson. Regarding him stiffly, Jane was back to staring into the flames. Apparently Anthea told her the outcome. Unsurprised at Irene’s appearance, Jane was back to looking into the fire.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock asked her.

“I wanted it.” Irene smiled as she sat in a chair by a wood table. Mycroft sat opposite Irene, Sherlock sat as far from her as he could.

“We…have people who can get into this.” Mycroft begun weakly.

“You can try. But, Sherlock Holmes tried for six months, and well…Sherlock Dear, tell him what you found.”

“…If you try to get into it, there are explosives. It will destroy the phone and all of the information.”

“Then, we can simply destroy it.” Mycroft said, frustrated.

“You could…but it is likely British citizens will die because of that.”

“Are there human lives in here?” Mycroft asked, angry.

“Possibly. It wouldn’t be fair to tell you. Now, are you ready to hear my conditions?” Sliding over an envelope, Irene crossed her legs.

“Here is what I need.”

Reading the list, Mycroft’s eyebrows raised, and his eyes wide.

“I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.” Irene said, hand on her chin.

“Thank you…yes-”

“-To bad. You need to agree now, or no.”

“You’ve been very…thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”

“Ooh, can’t take _all_ of the credit. Had a bit of help. Oh and…” Looking at Jane and Sherlock, Irene smiled. “Jim Moriarty sends his love.”

Jane’s fist clenched slightly, while Sherlock glared into the fire. Sitting on the table, Irene looked between Mycroft and Sherlock.

“Has nicknames for all of you. You, the iceman, and Sherlock...the virgin. And Jane, the puppet.” 

Closing her eyes, Jane felt her anger seep deeper. Memories from the pool came in flashes. Blinking them away, Jane was back to looking into the umber flames.

“Didn’t even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.” Irene taunted, looking over at Sherlock.

Jane wasn't quite certain how she attained this thought. Perhaps it was the way Irene looked at Sherlock. Perhaps it was the way Irene's body leaned toward Sherlock. Whatever the reason, Jane wanted to laugh nearly. It was so obvious it was ridiculous. All of this time, all of the words, the suggestions, everything…boiled to one stupid fact.

“A dominatrix who brought the nation to its’ knees. Nicely played.” Mycroft said, looking ten years older.

“No.” Jane said.

The three all looked at her.

“Sorry?”

“No. You didn’t quite win Irene.” Jane spoke, rising.

“Really?”

“Really. I know the code.” Frowning, Sherlock stood up.

“Jane, stop.”

“You know what Sherlock? No. No, I won’t stop. You need to learn you’re not the only one around here who has brains.” Brushing him away, Jane walked up to Irene.

“You’re ridiculous, you.” Jane said, taking the phone from her.

“How? I won.”

“You didn’t. You lost the moment you met Moriarty. He played you, just like he plays everyone. Moriarty had you meet a man you can never have.”

“Have..? What are you talking about?”

“It’s good to feel. Meet people who you love. But not when it makes you lose yourself with it.” Pressing in a digit, Jane looked at her. “You could’ve typed in any four numbers, and left here with everything and everyone under your belt. But, you didn’t. You got soft.”

“What are you going on about?”

“You’ve said it many times. The phone’s your life. So of course, the passcode _means_ something.”

Her laugh growing nervous, Irene smiled at her viciously.

“What-you thought I was actually in love with Sherlock Holmes? Like you? Loving a man you can never, never have.”

Startled, Sherlock looked between the two. Her eyes burning with cold fury, Jane typed in two more digits.

“I-my life is on this phone. Without it, I could-”

“-Die. Yeah, you’re going to die. But y’know what, I don’t care. I don’t. You can burn for all I care.” Jane hissed, typing in the last one.

Jane flashed the phone at Irene to show it was truly unlocked. _SHERLocked_. Handing the phone to Mycroft, Jane refused to look at Sherlock.

“I’m sorry for all of the trouble your brother and I have caused you. I know the way out.” Following her, Sherlock reached her at the door.

“Jane, how-”

“-Don’t. Leave me alone.” She just wanted to be left alone. Coming back in, Sherlock’s mind was a muddle of thought and emotions.

“If you’re feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her protection.” Sherlock mumbled, the sound of the main door closing ringing in his ears.

“Are you expecting me to beg??” Irene cried, tears in her eyes.

“Yes.” Sherlock said, waiting at the doorway.

“Please…I…Jane was right. You were right.” Swallowing down her pride, Irene added: "Won’t even last six months.”

“…Sorry about dinner.” Sherlock said, walking away.

He needed to talk to Jane. This had been dancing between them for months now. If she wouldn’t break the ice, Sherlock would. Getting home, he looked around. The flat was still and silent. No sound from upstairs. Going up the extra flight of stairs, Sherlock saw there was no light dancing from under her door. Knocking on the door, he didn’t even hear the rustle of a bedcover. Cautiously opening the door, Sherlock found her room empty. Jane knew he’d want answers. She most likely went to stay with Clara.

Sitting on the stairs, Sherlock sighed. He was such an idiot. He was a moron, and frankly, a prick. He treated Jane with indifference, hadn’t listened to a single syllable she had said. Going downstairs, he looked at the new microscope. She had most likely scrimped for that. He was so self-absorbed, that he didn’t even notice, or care. All that had occupied his thoughts was Irene. Irene had clouded his judgment, made him delusional. All for a game of cat and canary.

***

Jane was home the next day. Per usual (When she was angry or upset), she pretended nothing had happened. She was all pleasantries. Every time Sherlock tried to speak of it, she would change the subject, or leave. That evening, Mrs. Hudson offered to cook dinner. The two remained uncharacteristically silent and sombre.

"What happened with Irene Adler? Is she coming back?" Mrs. Hudson asked, clearing away dishes.

"Made other living arrangements..." Jane said, clicking away on her blog.

"Oh really?"

"Yep."

"And how's Sherlock feeling about that?" Mrs. Hudson teased.

The air grew tense. Sherlock lay flat on his back, his eyes closed. Yet everyone knew he was listening to every word, every breath Jane took.

"Pretty desolate, I'm certain." Stiffening slightly, Sherlock stayed silent, as Jane angrily clacked on her laptop.

Noticing the severe mood, Mrs. Hudson knew an argument was brewing and slowly backed to the door.

"Well, goodnight..." Mrs. Hudson said, wondering if they would be alright alone.

As the door closed, Jane closed her laptop. Standing up, she took it and turned to the stairs.

"Jane."

"Well," Jane said, ignoring him. "Better call John."

Inhaling sharply, Sherlock asked the question.

"Are you upset?"

Pale with livid anger, Jane looked at him slowly.

"It's not your business."

"It's about me Jane. I'd like to know what you think about me right now."

"That you're stupid."

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me! What were you thinking, accepting a case like that?! I warned you, and you didn't listen! Does it ever occur that sometimes Mycroft has your best interests in mind? Do you know that I do??"

And the cork to the bottle finally popped.

"It was interesting Jane!"

"And so would jumping off a building be, but would you do it??"

"Of course not, I'm not stupid."

"Oh I don't know! You let that horrid woman walk all over you! And you were _okay_ with that?! You even handed the information to her! Handed it to her!!" Jane shouted, chest heaving.

Knowing she was right, but not wanting to admit that, Sherlock stayed silent.

"You haven't cared! Haven't cared that she manipulated you, how worried I've been about you!!" Jane yelled, shoving his chest with her hand.

"Jane-"

"-You don't care! About me, Mycroft, Irene! All you care about is the thrill!" Jane said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"The thrill of a chase isn't all I care about!"

"Then why?" Jane asked, throwing her laptop on her chair. "Why have you been shoving me away?? We've barely spoken properly Sherlock! Not since Irene came in!"

"Why do you care so much?" He asked.

"And why do _you_ care so little?? I-" cutting herself off, Jane looked away. "I'm tired Sherlock. I'm tired."

She didn't mean sleep, she meant so much more and Sherlock knew it. Tired of dancing around each other, of Irene, how everything had been so tense since the Palace.

"The passcode was Sherlocked. How did you know it?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"I-what?"

"How did you know the passcode?" Sherlock repeated.

"Don't!" Jane yelled, stomping up the stairs. Irked as well, Sherlock followed her.

"Don't what?"

"Oh stop it, you know what!"

"It would be better if you clarified." Sherlock growled, irritated.

"Don't stare and deduce me right now, Sherlock! I'm not in the mood."

"I can't help that! My brain does not just switch off like a light!"

"Then what??" Jane asked, crowding into his space.

"Deduce me then! What can you tell right here, right now??" She snapped, backing up and looking him straight in the eye.

Grabbing her arms, Sherlock pushed her against the wall, and made her look him in the eye.

"That you're scared. You knew the code. You have for a while now, haven't you?"

"I would've said so." Jane replied.

 "Would you? You can't even tell me how you knew it. But you know how you did it, don't you?" Sherlock asked, leaning in closer. He saw how Jane seemed to be doing everything in her power to shrink away, as he pressed forward.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" Jane whispered, her voice hushed.

"Answer mine first Jane. Does it have to do with what Irene said to you, that day?" Sherlock asked.

"Wh-what day?" She stammered.

"You know what day. I hate repeating myself."

She knew perfectly well what day he was talking about. The day they found out Irene lived, the conversation that Sherlock pretended not to hear.

“What about that day?”

“Is it true?” Mouth opening, Jane looked down.

“What…do you want me to say? You want me to lie, and say no? Or you want me to say it, and then for you to…”

He then did the unexpected. Sherlock put one hand on her neck and the other against the wall, and kissed her. Inhaling sharply, Jane backed further into the wall, her hands roving through his curls. When he drew back, she stared at him, her eyes wide as saucers, their breaths both shaky.

"Why did you do that...?" She asked, uncertainty in her expression.

"I thought...that was fairly obvious."

"Obvious?" Jane managed a hurt laugh. That he was trying to get her to be quiet, trying to get her to see what he wanted her to see, feel what he wanted her to feel? Try to make her forget Irene?

"Nothing....nothing's obvious. Not in this situation." Putting her hands to his chest, she made him step back. Not looking him in the eye, Jane went up the stairs and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really interested to hear what you all have to say on this one. If you would comment below your thoughts and predictions, that would be fantastic! :)


	10. The Other Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deals with the aftermath of the previous night.

“It’s strange for you to be in here honestly.” Clara commented as she went over the bills.

“Mn…” Sherlock nodded his reply as he wrote on his laptop.

Instead of his usual spot in Baker Street, he now was sitting in Clara’s small baby blue kitchen. After solving a quick case (alone), Sherlock went to Clara’s flat.

“Why…why are you here?” Clara asked suspiciously, examining a bill.

Closing his laptop, Sherlock exhaled. “I am conducting an experiment.”

“An…experiment?” Clara asked, pushing a strand of black hair out of her eyes.

“Yes, and I need your…outlook as you have the brain and hormones a woman has.”

Looking at him suspiciously, Clara took her reading glasses off and sat back. “I’m listening.”

“Hormones are strong substances, shown by the fact that small quantities produce deep effects. Hormones are in effect by many factors, including social and physical environment, and-” Sherlock rambled.

“Sherlock, I am well aware of the hormonal system. Please, get to the point.” Clara said, tapping her finger against the table.

“Yes. When the hormonal system is at an imbalance, cortisol floods the system and hormone production lags. This forces the body to _steal_ from its own supplies of available progesterone, to make more cortisol, thus depleting this key balancing hormone with obvious implications for estrogenic dominance.”

“Yes…but I don’t think that’s the only reason Jane’s upset, Sherlock.” Clara shrewdly said, making Sherlock scowl.

“Oh please, this isn’t about Jane, it’s about a case. Now-”

“…Just save it. I am not Jane, I am not Mrs. Hudson. This is about Jane. Otherwise, you would have gone to her for advice. If you asked Mrs. Hudson, she would know it would be about Jane. Knowing she’d gossip, you went to me.”

“I don’t care what people say about me.” Sherlock haltingly defended himself.

“Yes, but if Mrs. Hudson gossiped, it would make Jane even angrier and more upset with you.”

“You should have become a detective.” Sherlock remarked.

“I have a degree in psychology. Now listen, you don’t have to get into it with me. Tell me what you did or what she did, and I’ll give you some advice.”

“I didn’t imply-”

“-I have bills to pay, and then I have to go to work. So unless you want me to help, you can leave.” Clara tersely said, glaring at him.

Was it so hard to just say what was wrong? Grudgingly, Sherlock formulated his words.

“I failed to heed information Jane had given me, concerning Irene Adler.”

“…I see. And, she’s upset.”

“Yes.”

That was an understatement.

“Well…I’d…how upset is she?”

“Upset.” Sherlock answered short.

Knowing she probably wouldn’t get more information than this, Clara sat and thought for a few moments.

“Apologise. Because you didn’t listen to her, she probably was hurt.”

“Apologise?” Sherlock blinked.

“Yes. It doesn’t necessarily need to be verbal. Something though, that _will_ get this message across.” Sherlock nodded. Getting up, he went back to their flat.

Jane hadn’t been home since the time he’d gotten up. Going to his room, he opened his bureau dresser, Sherlock reached into the very back. Pulling out the thick package in brown wrapping paper, Sherlock brushed the dust off. He never gave it to her. He had planned it for months, but when Irene came…he didn’t. The worst part was, Sherlock didn’t even know why. Closing the door with a small creak, Sherlock put the package down. What would she say when she saw what was in it? Half of him expected her to hate him for it. The other half of him…brushing off the other notion, Sherlock delved into silence.

Opening the window, Sherlock breathed in the warm air. Why was he…why had he changed so? He had turned into a romantic (as his brother would phrase it). He had sworn relationships away. They were superfluous, he didn’t want one. So why did he feel as if he needed it, needed her? Sherlock didn’t know. Hearing the door downstairs open, Sherlock recognised the footsteps. Jane. Swallowing, he stared at the package. Hearing the kettle click on, Sherlock gradually didn’t want to leave his room. Sitting on his bed, Sherlock listened to the noises from the kitchen and debated leaving, or staying. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, for God sakes!

“This is ridiculous,” He muttered, getting up.

Opening the door, he walked out. Seeing Jane, he nodded at her.

“Hi,” She greeted him, nodding. “I’m heating up some leftover soup if you’re hungry.”

“Yes,” He said, getting out two spoons and bowls.

Sitting opposite the other, Jane dished out the food. Taking it, Sherlock started eating. Complete silence, save the clinking of spoons and the ticking wall clock.

“The-clouds are-in great masses.” Nearly choking on his soup, Sherlock wanted to punch himself. Clouds?? _Clouds?!_ He didn’t know what else to say, but clouds??

“Yes. There are a lot of them.” Jane said awkwardly through a mouthful of soup.

“Yes.”

_Clink, tick-tock, clink, tick-tock._ Unsure of what else to do, Sherlock took his mobile from the table and looked for cases. Jane silently ate and read the paper.

***

He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to do something. Looking at the ceiling, Sherlock drew in a long breath. Taking the package, Sherlock went slowly up the stairs. Bringing his hand up to the door, Sherlock clenched his fist before knocking three times.

“Just a minute!” He heard Jane say and heard her get up.

Gripping the package tightly, he drew it behind his back. Door opening, Jane cautiously looked at him.

“Yes..? Was there something you needed?”

Swallowing, Sherlock looked down at her. Stepping in, Sherlock kept the package behind his back.

“What you got there?” Jane asked, gesturing towards his back.

“Ah, this. I-found it, and I-” Handing her the package, Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back.

Unwrapping it, Jane carefully removed the paper. Looking at the title, the blood drained out of Jane’s face.

“This…this is…”

_A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens_ Turning to where it said it was published, it read 1859. Opening the cover, she saw it. The note her Grandmum had wrote to her when Jane was still a little girl.

“You…you found my book!” Jane said after a full three minutes.

“Yes.”

“Where-how did you find this?? It-has the note she wrote me, and everything! That’s her handwriting! The _exact_ copy! I-I thought I’d never see it again!” Jane gasped, looking at the book and Sherlock over and over again.

“Was hardly a challenge.”

“I-thank you. How long have you had this??” Jane frowned, running her thumb down the spine.

“I-deleted it. I forgot I had it until this afternoon.” That was an absurd lie. He had it on his mind for a while now, never sure of when to bring it to the light.

“Thank you.” She said, hugging the book to her chest.

“The thrill of a chase isn't all I care about.” Sherlock suddenly said.

“I-” Remembering their conversation, Jane smiled. “Thank you. You…went through some considerable trouble to find the book. I know you don’t not care.”

Silent, Sherlock backed towards the door.

“And my actions made you uncomfortable. I-it was never in my intentions to place you in that situation.” Sherlock blurted out.

He honestly had no idea what had come over him in that moment. Silent, Jane looked down.

“You…you didn’t make me uncomfortable Sherlock. I just…” She blew out her cheeks. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“I…thought it was obvious.” Sherlock replied.

“You hate repeating yourself.” Jane slyly looked at him.

“No, last night I said ‘fairly’, and this time it was merely ‘obvious’ Jane, there is a difference!” He argued.

“Oh, of course.” She said sarcastically.

“Central dopamine pathways facilitate behaviour, while vasopressin in the ventral pallidum and oxytocin in the nucleus accumbens and paraventricular hypothalamic nucleus determine human thought and attachment.” Sherlock rattled off, now pacing back and forth. Watching him rant, Jane looked at him and smiled.

“…I take it, that you like me a bit.”

“Yes. Now, excuse me.” Turning, Sherlock trotted down the stairs.

“What? Wait!” Jane exclaimed, setting the book carefully down.

“Hey! You can’t bloody just tell someone you like them and leave!” Jane cried, going after him.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, going down faster.

“Because! It’s rude! You didn’t even hear what I wanted to say!”

He didn’t really want to hear what she had to say. How she would stay, regardless of this, and would pretend nothing had happened. The thought of those words made his throat burn, and he turned his back to her.

“What is it then?” He asked.

"I like you!" Jane cried, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Those were not words he had expected. Wheeling on his foot, he stared at Jane, confused.

"You....like me?" Sherlock asked in utter uncertainty.

"Yes. Not in a friend sense, I mean. Well, of course as a friend, but more..." When he looked confused, Jane sighed.

"Can't you understand?" Thinking for a moment, she then knew what to do.

Standing on her tiptoes, she put both hands on his neck and drew him in. Brushing her lips against his, Jane gave him an ardent but chaste kiss. Freezing for a moment, Sherlock then responded. Putting his arms around her waist, he leaned down further and returned her kiss as well. Drawing back, Jane kissed his bottom lip, before she looked into his gorgeous blue green eyes.

"I like you Sherlock. I know...I know that changes things. But..." Looking down, Jane suddenly felt ashamed.

What was she thinking? Sherlock was upset, trying to latch onto some sense of comfort. But he would surely come to his senses, wouldn't he? Sherlock...he said...

"I'm sorry. You said...on our first night...that you were married to your work. And I said-" drawing in a quaking breath, Jane finished her sentence, releasing him. "-And I agreed."

"Who cares?" Sherlock asked her.

"Sorry?"

"Who cares?” Putting his hand on her cheek, Sherlock made her look at him. “I used to say I'd never get a flat mate. Now I have one."

"But that's different Sherlock."

"No, it's not. I’ve been mistaken before.”

“Yes…but…this just isn’t like you Sherlock. I don’t even remember the last time we’ve ever had a chat about anything remotely romantic.”

“You don’t remember, because we haven’t. This is what people do, don’t they? Talk of their feelings, so they can come to intelligent conclusions.”

“And what is your ‘intelligent conclusion’?” Jane asked.

“That we are composed, collected, and organised when we’re together.”

At this, Jane had to snort.

“Anything but! We fight all the time, and we are anything but composed, collected, and organised!” Jane shook her head ruefully at the very notion.

“But, I understand what you’re attempting to say. We are better when we’re with each other. Really.” She reassured him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Nodding at her, Sherlock felt a little weight off his shoulders lifted somewhat. Pulling her into a tight embrace, Sherlock felt happier than he had in months. Pulling back again, Jane smiled at him. Leaning in, Sherlock put his hands in her hair, and gave her another kiss.

***

People speculated. Mrs. Hudson would throw some (not so much) passive remarks on the relationship. Clara would give them a knowing smile, and Lestrade would throw a quizzing glance their way at times.

It stayed with them. The only way you might tell the spark that fell between them, was the way Sherlock looked at her when he was certain Jane wasn’t watching. Or the way Jane would yell and talk, with a nuance of affection in her voice. The two liked it that way. No one to tell them what they ought to do from here. No hard feelings should anything come between them. Sherlock and Jane were happy, and at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, kudos to my sister. She did all of the scientific research for Sherlock's rambles (As I am complete rubbish when it comes to scientific studies). And now, they are officially a couple :D  
> Only one more chapter remains in "Lies in Crimson"


	11. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Sherlock conclude their dealings with Irene Adler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hardly believe that Lies in Crimson is finished!! I've only just started writing the next one, so it might be around a month before I publish that one. But thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you've loved it!

She hadn’t seen Mycroft ever since that accursed night. Yet, there she found him. His large black umbrella in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Running, Jane tried to hurry out of the rain. Stopping in front of Speedy’s, Jane put a hand to her racing heart.

“I thought…you didn’t smoke…” She panted, trying to regain breath.

“Nor do I frequent cafes.” Mycroft noted, dropping the cigarette on the wet ground.

Going inside, they both ordered coffee. Albeit, it was a rather awkward setting, Jane tried her best to keep her annoyance with Mycroft in check.

“How is Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

“…Small talk doesn’t suit you.” Jane raised her eyebrow at him.

Looking at the package by him, Jane looked inquiringly at him. “What's that?”

“This…is the phone of Irene. Wiped out and deactivated.” Handing it to her, Mycroft pulled out a file.

“How is she then?” Jane asked slowly.

“Fine! She is in the witness protection program in America. New name, new life…”

“That’s good.” Although she hated Irene, Jane didn’t truly want her dead.

“At least…that is what we would like Sherlock to know.” Letting his sentence hang in the air, Mycroft let her draw to a conclusion.

“She…she’s dead?” Jane asked in a hushed tone. 

“Three months ago, Cairo.” Letting the information sink in, Jane stared at the phone in her hands.

It suddenly felt very cold and heavy.

“She-she’s done this before. Everyone-thought she was dead.”

“I was _thorough_ this time.”

“But-what if-”

“-Dr. Watson. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I…don’t think he was there, do you?” Shaking her head, Jane looked at her lap.

“Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just ‘The Woman.’”

“Is that hatred, or an acknowledgment? One of the few women to him who mattered.”

“He’s not like that. He didn’t feel for her that way.” Jane wasn’t sure if she were convincing Mycroft or herself right now. A small part of her always wondered if he had cared for her in that sense.

“Not quite true, I don’t think. After all, the two of you…” Mycroft trailed off.

“Mycroft, I am not sure just how many times it’ll take for the message to sink in, but I don’t think that is your business.”

“Be careful with him. Please.”

Stunned at the atypical request, Jane cleared her throat. “Anyway…what, do you think of Sherlock? As a brother?”

“My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?”

“I…I don’t know.” On days like this, Jane never could really tell.

“Neither do I ...but initially he wanted to be a pirate.” Mycroft smiled, almost fond of the memory.

“Seriously?” Jane asked, grinning in spite of herself.

“I believe he was nine at the time.”

Chuckling, Jane shook her head.

“So…” Leaning forward, Mycroft clasped his hands under his chin. “What do we tell Sherlock?”

Looking at the file, the phone, and finally Mycroft, Jane slowly stood up.

“I’ll be back in a few.” Jane promised, racing out of the café.

Going up the stairs, Jane swallowed against the lump in her throat. What would she tell Sherlock? The truth? But last time she had died, he had gone into isolation. Had torn himself up. She didn’t want to watch that happen again. Going into the kitchen, she watched Sherlock peer into his microscope. Shifting from leg to leg, Jane tried to think of how to start this unavoidably awkward conversation.

“Clearly you’ve got news.” Sherlock said, not even glancing at her.

“Yes, well…”

“Well go on, stop stuttering like an idiot.”

Deciding to let his snippy comment slide, Jane cleared her throat. “It’s ehm…it’s about Irene Adler.”

“Oh,” Looking up at her, Sherlock blinked.

“Did she come back?”

“No…ah…she…” _She's Dead_.

Watching Sherlock stare at her with something akin to hope, Jane felt a pang.

“She’s…she’s in America actually! Got into a witness protection up there!” Jane chirped.

When their eyes met, Jane looked down. He knew her well enough to know when Jane was lying. Instead of accusing her however as Jane was expecting, he looked down again.

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah.” The lie sounded like a lie. It sounded like one to her and probably Sherlock. But what could she do? Perhaps lies were sometimes less hurtful than the cold hard truth.

“Y’know that means you won’t get to see her again?”

“Why would I see her again?” Sherlock defensively asked.

“No, no reason.”

“What’s that?” He nodded at the plastic bag and the file in her hand.

“Oh, this is just a file on her…and the thing that started this whole case. Do you want to look at…?” He shook his head.

“Oh…alright.” Jane backed towards the door.

“I’ll just go back…”

“But, I will keep the phone.” Jane looked down at the plastic bag.

“You can’t keep it Sherlock. It’s the governments now. It’s blank, there’s nothing on it.”

“I know. Still…I’d like to keep it.”

“Sherlock, no. I-I can’t-”

“-Please.” Sherlock extended his hand. Perhaps it was the sad glint in his eyes. How heavy the word fell about them. The extended hand, the sound of cold rain pounding on their windows. The fact that Sherlock knew Jane was lying. Knew that Irene had truly died. Something tugged her heartstrings though, and made Jane sympathise for Sherlock. Hesitating, Jane laid it gently into his palm.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, pocketing it.

She wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing came to mind. Opening her mouth and closing it, she just turned around and walked downstairs. Once Sherlock heard the door close, he looked down at the phone. He knew Jane thought she had died. The guilt in Jane’s tone, the fact that she _let_ Sherlock have the phone, and her posture told him everything he needed to know. He was not about to stir up more trouble in 221B. Sherlock had his fill of that, the last six months could testify to that. Turning the phone over a few times in his hand, Sherlock got up and watched the pouring rain trace patterns down his window.

When he had heard of her whereabouts, Sherlock went. All the way to Cairo, while Jane was visiting her brother and her new niece. And just like that, he found her, and Irene went free. He still remembered what happened that day.

_“Well Holmes,” Irene said, smirking._

_“Never thought I’d see you of all people in this god-forsaken place.”_

_“Where will you go?” Sherlock asked her._

_“Who knows?” Irene shrugged._

_“New name. New alibi.”_

_“You’ll be killed if Moriarty finds you.” Sherlock warned._

_“Oh I know, Darling. Thankfully, he cares more about you than I. I mean, that is why he brought me into this. All for this. Bet you feel special?”_

_Silent, Sherlock sheathed the saber he had out._

_“Still…you and that woman are together.”_

_“We’re always together.” Chuckling, Irene shook her head._

_“I meant actually together. You finally lowered your’ standards for the girl.”_

_Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock watched Irene try and make small talk. After a few more words, Sherlock left her. He had a plane to catch._

Chuckling, Sherlock flipped the phone in the air. Catching it, he put it into a drawer, for safe keeping.

“The Woman…The Woman.”

**Author's Note:**

> I very much imagine Sherlock yelling at the press whenever they try and get an interview :)


End file.
